Arc 3 - Chapter 9 - God's Plan

All her life, Blake had always relished silence. There really was nothing quite like it. Curling up on the sofa with a hot tea and a blanket, and with a good book to pass the time. Sitting under the backyard tree on a hot day, eased into a nap by the warm sunlight. Or sat to rigid attention while she worked slowly and patiently on a new painting, tongue pressing into her teeth, all noise around her faded to nonexistence. The world would become still, and so too would her mind, allowing her to reach that tranquil state where everything seemed right. Where Blake could feel something approaching inner peace.

At the moment, Blake was not feeling very peaceful. One might say that she was, in fact, in anxiety-ridden distress as she paced the room from one end to the other, hugging her arms in a pointless attempt to stay calm. It wasn't working.

The ruined shop they had hunkered down in looked like it had been withering away for decades. Maybe centuries. Pyrrha had found a candle and lighter, thank their luck, so the heavy darkness was made to recede to the corners of the walls, flickering with the antsy flame. The windows were overgrown with vegetation, which had then gone on to age, wither, harden, and die stuck to the glass, dry mold clinging to the panes. Strangely perfect for keeping any monsters from seeing inside, but equally effective at making those inside feel like they'd been swallowed by an even bigger monster. It had been a jewelry shop, that much Blake could tell, with broken cases, flipped shelves, and shattered glass everywhere. There were some strange tubes built into the walls, almost looking like the big dispensers in candy stores, all either empty or with small clumps of black ashes left in them. Blake couldn't work out why such things would be in a jewelry store, but decided she had more pressing things to think on. There were other shelves, containing baubles and clothing, tools and magazines, but Blake had given them no interest. How could she?

Over two hours now, and Jaune still had not returned.

He was on his way back, most likely. That's what she had told herself fifteen minutes ago. And thirty minutes before that. It was starting to ring hollow. It needn't be said what she feared might have happened. Jaune had seemed capable against those hare-looking beasts, but maybe he had run into a monster he couldn't beat. Maybe he was never coming back. The thought of that made Blake drop her face into her hands, all while lamenting whether she was more concerned that Jaune was probably dead, or that she would not be able to go back home. What a mess all this was.

"Pistol sword."

Blake turned to see Pyrrha standing by the candle, flipping through one of the dusty magazines she'd pulled off the shelf, "What?"

Pyrrha didn't even look at her as she turned the page. "This book. It's talking about these robotic weapons. There's one in here called a Pistol Sword."

Whatever she was talking about, Blake couldn't see how it was of any use to them. "Good find. We may need one of those weapons if Jaune doesn't come back."

Oddly, Pyrrha simply kept reading through the magazine, quite as if this was all a normal day and she was browsing for her latest purchase in this desolate mockery of a store. She'd been like that for a good while now. Ever since Jaune had left. "Aren't you worried?" Blake asked.

"Hm?"

"About Jaune."

She paused in the middle of turning a page, then continued on. "He promised he'd come back."

"And you believe him?"

"I try to take promises seriously."

Blake was about to say that Pyrrha was in for a slew of disappointments later in life, but such advice would hardly matter if they both died here. At seventeen years old. The consideration of that brought on a fresh bout of anxiety. "Forgive me if I don't share your certainty. I'm not an expert at… whatever all this is."

Pyrrha offered no response to that, but Blake didn't expect her to. Another fifteen minutes passed, the candle dwindled down halfway and the shadows continued to dance. Pyrrha got bored of reading and now sat on the shop counter, hands clasped together, head bowed until her forehead pressed against her thumbs. "Are you praying?" Blake asked.

Pyrrha nodded, just as if that was obvious.

"My parents pray a lot," said Blake, remembering all the years they'd attended church in her youth. They never forced her to go when she was old enough, and she eventually just fell out of practice. Blake wondered if that's when things had all gone wrong for her. A crisis to wade through some other time. She watched Pyrrha as she whispered her prayer and found herself intrigued. "Does it work?"

"Does what work?" repeated Pyrrha questioningly.

"That. Praying. Does it accomplish anything? Does it make miracles happen?"

"There's no such thing as miracles," said Pyrrha. "Only God's plan."

God's plan. She was definitely a church girl. Blake might have chuckled, if Pyrrha's claim had been even remotely funny. "If throwing us into hell was God's plan, he's got an interesting sense of humor."

Pyrrha sounded disturbingly certain as she said, "This isn't hell."

"Close enough, though."

No response. Another fifteen minutes passed, the candle burned down halfway, the shadows were no longer confined to the corners and now slithered further along the wall.

"If Jaune comes back," said Blake. "You should tell him how you feel."

Pyrrha looked at her now, green eyes narrowing like the wrong nerve had been picked at. "This is hardly the best setting."

"There is no good setting." Unless you were Adam, who'd asked her out in the library, which could not have been more ideal even in Blake's most indulgent fantasies. One of her happiest memories. Blake kept that at the forefront of her mind, wanting something good to remember in case she got torn apart by demons. "Just get it out of the way, in case we all die here."

"I won't die here." said Pyrrha, once again disturbingly certain.

"And how do you know?"

"Because that is not God's plan."

Again with this God's plan nonsense. The girl had made Blake unsteady in some way before all this madness, but upon hearing her actually speak more than one word in a full sentence, Blake was wishing for the old Pyrrha back. "So you're a prophet now? Tell me, what exactly is God's plan, then?"

Pyrrha looked ready to say something, then her eyes were drawn elsewhere. To the barred door of the shop. She hopped to her feet and began to move the shelf. Blake thought to ask what she was even doing or why, but then found herself shocked when Pyrrha easily shifted the weight of the shelf, dragged it scraping across the floor, and dropped it away, all without a single grunt of effort. To even get the damn thing in front of the door, it had taken both of them, and with considerable struggle to boot. What had suddenly given Pyrrha this burst of superhuman adrenaline? Before Blake could ask, Pyrrha darted through the door and into the street.

"Pyrrha! Damn it," cursed Blake, following after her. Stepping into the street felt like she was breaking a law, the punishment of which would be most severe. "Pyrrha, whats…"

And she saw them. Four men who were standing outside the shop, barely lit by the flaming torch held in one's hand, shadows even in the overbearing night. They all wore black sunglasses and black suits, which felt entirely ill-suited for the dreary location they were in, yet Blake could barely work out an outfit that could do the job better. They stood at the edge of the sidewalk, as if crossing the threshold between cement and stone was a law which should never be broken. Pyrrha stood a little too close to them for Blake's comfort and it made her run up and seize her by the arm, not once taking her eyes off the men. "Pyrrha, we should—"

"Please!" called Pyrrha, voice so loud that it sent it a shock up Blake's back. That desperate sound was back. Filled with concern and fear. "Excuse me, can you help us?"

It took a moment, but one of the men broke from his group and approached them. His foot crossed into the sidewalk and he did not burst into flames like that of a vampire invading a home with permission , so at least he wasn't one of those. That didn't mean he wasn't something else, however. The suits' faces were all very similar, to such a point that Blake had to wonder if they were a set of quadruplets who'd all agreed to go into the same profession. Of course, what profession got you into business like what was going on here? The apparent leader of the group stopped a few feet before Pyrrha, looked her up and down like he was sizing up her market value. "How did you get here, young lady?"

"We were at the community center in downtown Vale. Then, something happened. We fell. Then, we ended up here."

The man watched her for a long moment. "I see." Then turned to Blake, the skin on his neck creasing. "Is it just you two?"

"There's someone else. A friend that fell with us," said Blake, swallowing. "He went off to find help. His name's Jaune."

The mention of his name made the man's stony face break. One eyebrow rose high. Two of his fellows looked at one another with intense frowns. Did they know Jaune? And what did knowing Jaune mean? By those looks, it didn't seem like they were allies, or at least they weren't only friendly terms. It dawned on Blake right then that telling these men Jaune's name had probably been a horrible, horrible mistake.

The man gestured an inviting arm out to his fellows, all of whom parted like the double doors of a five star hotel, eager to welcome honored guests. "I understand. It's alright. Come with us to the camp. You're safe now."

Pyrrha showed no hesitation in that regard. She went on past the man and entered the center of the party, looking very much like a royal envoy being guided by her bodyguards to a meeting of great importance.

"I…" Blake hesitated, wanting desperately to wait for Jaune to come back, but also dreading the idea of being left alone. The leader waited on her quietly, as if very well knowing she had no choice in the matter. Not if she meant to live out the day.

Blake eventually joined up and took up stride beside Pyrrha, sticking close as the men boxed them in on every side. No doubt to protect them from all outside forces. Probably to keep them from escaping, too.

"It does work," said Pyrrha.

"What?"

"You asked if praying works."

"I thought you said that miracles don't happen."

"They don't," said Pyrrha, looking ahead and walking with strange confidence. "This is God's plan."

A group of shady men with unknown intentions, leading a pair of teenage girls to an unspecified location under the promise of safety. Such a scenario under any other circumstance was more likely to result in their premature deaths or worse. Even now, as they approached a big warehouse shrouded by darkness, Blake had to wonder if she was about to end up in a trafficking ring. She would find out regardless. It was far too late to escape.

Old gates screeched as the waiting guards opened them, the suit at the head whispering something to them before leading them inside. There were lights in the building, faint orange glows in the windows that probably came from fires rather than electric lighting. Made the place seem alive somehow, like the head of some terrible beast, waiting to be fed. Still, Blake was not the best runner, and even worse of a fighter. Whatever awful fate awaited her beyond those dark walls was inevitable. Why had she come with them? She should have stayed and waited for Jaune. She wished he was here. She wished her mother and father were here to protect her, even if there was probably very little they could do.

They stopped at the warehouse entrance, bathed in its looming presence as Blake looked up and found that the walls seemed to stretch higher than they'd first appeared. She could make out the faint dark-gray clouds in the distant sky, and that reminded her of the fact that she'd fallen from space to land here. Perhaps the only way back was up. Somehow, Blake doubted there were any space shuttles in this wasted city. The head suit knocked on the door and a hatch in the door opened. Words were exchanged and there were various sounds of heavy metal shifting and clicking, no doubt that of various locks, meant to keep those inside safe. Perhaps from escaping.

Blake covered her mouth and tears stung at her eyes as the door dragged open, able to feel the wait just from seeing the doorman move it. They were led inside, wordless, and the world inside was realized, all her worst fears coming to fruition.

That is, if one of her worst fears was a homeless shelter.

Set along the walls were stacks of clean white cots, gifted with blankets and pillows, the number in all looking to be at least four dozen. In the center, stretching longways through the building like a divider was a long table, lit candles set on top which even together barely lit the room. There was a set of stairs at the end, leading up to the high walkway of the second floor and another set of doors, and Blake just barely made out a sign that said DO NOT ENTER at the base of the staircase. All of this was much to take in, but it was not the end of the surprises.

The warehouse was packed with people.

Almost every bed was occupied, to the point where Blake saw some having to share. People laid asleep and awake, conversed amongst one another, sorted through their bags and belongings, even ate meals and played card games. Hell, there was even some laughter! Quite as if this was some regular community get together, right here in the center of hell. Blake almost couldn't believe it. Scratch that, not even almost.

"This way. We'll find you some beds." commanded the head suit, ushering Blake along, while the rest of the escorts had moved away to be about their own business.

She couldn't help but look around at it all, utterly bewildered. She saw two old men talking, both looking tired, but managing to pull some laughs from one another with stories about their families. Another man was lying on his cot. He had his shirt removed and bandages wrapped around his chest. He was snoring, which was a good indication that he was alive and well, but having seen monsters not long ago, it was not hard to guess how he'd ended up in that state. One of the escorts had actually gone over to check on him, had even taken a chair to his bedside, looking over him with that stone-cold face.

The words fell out of Blake's mouth before she could stop them. "What is this place?"

"Safety," said the suit simply. He pointed them to two free beds, one of which looked recently used, but Blake hardly thought it was appropriate to raise that kind of complaint. "You two wait here, we'll inform our captain of your arrival. Feel free to rest. Meals will be brought out shortly."

Blake couldn't say she was hungry for anything other than answers. Pyrrha just seemed to take this in stride, thanking the suit before passing Blake an anxious smile and sitting on her cot. Blake was about ready to question her strange behavior before the girl cut in. "I hope Jaune finds this place soon. Do you think he's alright?"

Blake stared at her for a moment, unable to read her face, and her thoughts as a result. For now, it was best to keep all this to herself. There was a right time for everything, and right now she needed a better understanding of where she was. "He's… resourceful. I think. I'm gonna have a look around."

Pyrrha offered no response, neither vocal nor physical. She just watched her go. Blake felt her eyes on her the entire time she was away.

She sorted amongst the various people around her, not at all sure who to talk to first. No one looked like they had any greater clue what was going on than her. A father holding his preteen son against his side, both looking distraught and relieved at the same time. A ragged looking woman that might actually be homeless, chewing on a stick of jerky, while warily looking around as if someone might try to steal it from her. Having no idea who to start with, Blake eventually approached a woman sitting alone at a table, looking like she had just gotten through crying.

"Excuse me," Blake started, hesitating when the woman's eyes turned on her. "Um, can I ask you some questions?"

The woman offered a weak smile. Then she spoke. And Blake realized it was not in her language. Mistralean, if she wasn't mistaken. The woman made a gesture toward her throat and shook her head, barely able to utter the words. "I'm sorry."

Blake made ready to move on, only to see someone come up from behind the woman. A girl maybe ten years old, looking up curiously at her. "That's my mom. She doesn't speak Valean."

Blake blinked at the both of them. "But you do?"

"My dad's from Vale and I go back and forth between there and home." The girl looked down. "Or, I used to."

"Used to? How long have you and your mom been here? How did you get here?"

"We were visiting Dad. Both of us, for his birthday. We went to the store to get his cake. We walked in and… that's all I really remember. Next thing, we were falling through space or something. Saw this moon, I think, broken into like a hundred pieces. We landed a long way away from here. I don't really know how long we've been here."

All that was sounding awfully similar to Blake's story. She surmised then, that everyone here had been about their normal lives in some way before… everything changed. "Do you know what this place is?"

"The captain here calls it the Safety Camp. Says it's for rescuing the lost. Didn't really say much else, sorry. But he says he can get us home soon!" The girl looked up at her mother, both putting up weak smiles. "We're hoping."

Get them home? Blake looked toward the end of the building, where a group of men were talking amongst one another near the stairs. They certainly looked like they knew what they were doing, so perhaps they knew what was going on and were seeking to fix it. Blake had to wonder how lucky one had to be to find this safehouse or be found by rescuers. And how unlucky you had to be to not be found at all. She hoped Jaune would not end up like that.

She thanked the girl, returned to her cot, and it wasn't long before a new man approached. He had wild green hair and spectacles that seemed to obscure his eyes. Unlike the suits, he presented a friendly smile that was oddly reassuring, like he understood their situation and genuinely sympathized. "Girls, what an unfortunate situation I see you're in. Feel free to call me Doctor. I want to assure you you have nothing to worry about. You're entirely safe here. Would you care for soup?"

He produced bowls for them, and Blake took it thankfully, and noticed that Pyrrha hesitated for a moment before taking hers. Eyeing the doctor with strange curiosity.

"Are you hurt?" The Doctor asked. "Wounded in any way?"

Blake shook her head. "Just scared out of my mind."

"Thankfully, fear is not often a killer. I can promise you that soon all of this will be a thing of the past. You will be back to your normal lives in no time at all." His smile slipped to a neutral frown. Hard and very much not reassuring. "However, when you are returned home, I must implore you to speak none of what you have experienced here to anyone. It is of paramount importance. Young ladies, can I count on your participation in this important request?"

It didn't really sound like there was a choice in this situation. Blake had to wonder if anyone had said no, and what happened to them as a result. She offered a weak chuckle. "Who in their right mind would say no?" she offered.

"My very thoughts." The Doctor's smile returned as he stood up. "Well, I'd best get back to work. If you need the restrooms, just ask the guards at the front door to escort you to the portables."

"Wait," Blake called him back. "What about our other friend? I mentioned him to one of those men that helped us."

"Yes, I've been told." The Doctor said swiftly. "Rest assured, we will do everything we can for him."

Then the Doctor headed off, and Blake noticed that precisely none of the suited men left the building immediately. Everything they could do probably meant leaving him to whatever fate he'd got caught up in.

Blake looked toward Pyrrha, who oddly enough was staring right back, watching her with that unreadable look. "Do you think they'll send someone to find Jaune?"

Pyrrha shrugged, just as if that wasn't her problem anymore. A stark contrast to the weeping damsel she'd been playing hours ago. "I hope so."

Defeated, Blake could only eat her soup in silence. Feeling powerless was not a new thing for her. She'd gotten used to it, to a degree. Yet, somehow the feeling that there was nothing she could do to help Jaune, who had unquestionably saved her life, made her feel lower than she had felt in a long time. She thought of how Pyrrha had prayed and wondered if she should do the same. But then, miracles didn't happen, according to the religious girl herself.

So instead, Blake hoped that part of God's plan was to ensure Jaune didn't get himself killed.

I finally got myself a laptop. So hopefully this means I can get back to more regular uploads. Later!

ISA