The curtain of air scalded like the hand of a desert wind, hard on the lungs, a scorch against frail skin. In its wake leaves crumpled and withered and became dust; trees eroded from magnificent branches to clinging roots, erased in a second, while all around lush greens burned to brown and grey and sepia, the sun hanging a strange and mournful vigil in a colourless sky. The ground stung Nimeda’s bare soles with every step. Tears clung to the curves of her cheek, each toxic breath heaved out in a sob. She bent to dig her fingers through the decay, searching, desperate.

“Nimeda?”

The vision cleared like a film swept away from her blistering eyes, though the tears did not. She squeezed the clumps of grass discovered in her hands, running her thumbs over the soft blades. Her forearm dragged across her eyes, but she could not so easily dig the emotions from her chest. An ending comes an ending comes an ending comes.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing,” she said, which was true enough. A terrible truth. Her eyes pressed closed, arms pulling her legs in tight. Mud smeared the pale folds of her dress like blood. Her forehead pressed against her knees, the dark crown of her hair spilling wild and tangled. “It will pass,” she murmured, unclear if she meant the memory or the future. “But I dread the passing.”

She felt him draw close, but knew he was unlikely to offer comfort. Or not the comfort she wanted. Nimeda would rather drift into the peace of oblivion than observe the arm’s length at which the grimnir kept her, and yet her chin lifted to rest on her arms nonetheless. Her grey gaze rose to find him watching, his eyes faintly narrowed in the manner of dissection.

Sometimes the haze of memory could be a comfort despite its intangibility. Fire and song enveloped; a drum beat like a heart, the pluck of strings. Happiness from some far other time. But like the detritus left over from a storm, her thoughts took her somewhere else.

“I know naught of sea monsters,” she told him suddenly. “But I know something of the monsters to be found in rivers.” The name Vánagandr beat like a thumbprint against her mind, though to what end she supposed she had never discovered. Mara’s presence spewed other memories to the surface, as if the Hidden One’s hook caught more than just the one answer. In that muddied murk she sometimes plucked free something shining. 

She unfolded like a flower discovering sun, expression clouded with the strange storm of thoughts to reach her shore. Grim kept a wary distance. A spear of the odd half-light in this world lit one eye to bright amber. Nim stared at the other as it flickered in its socket. “Sometimes you dream of a lake and a man you cannot save,” she said, crawling forward in the mud until she found her feet. Nothing cruel shadowed her expression as she laid bare these terrible facts, but Grim’s expression darkened. Despite the times he warned her away, she liked to watch his dreams, strange as the trinkets unearthed from the bottom of the sea. Pain drew her, but this time it was not his.

Her eyes flared wide. “All the old things sleep, and it’s where you ought to leave them, Grim. They don’t deserve to die!”

“The creature in the lake,” he said, surprised. “You know what it was.”

“You killed him, Grim! For a shiny bauble!”

“Then you know of the others.”

He bridged the distance until her neck craned, warmed by an intensity unchallenged by her horror, and then his will tugged upon her eagerly, the weight of his palm digging into her shoulder. The world unravelled. Memories stirred sharp as ice in that maelstrom, until she curled tight and let herself wash with the flood without leaking apart at the seams. When her toes returned they scrunched against a new bank. She twisted to the roaring waves, yanking back from Grim’s touch, fists curled. She knew these waters and the ancient being who called them home. Or had, once? Such odd memories rippled. For once she willed to forget as she felt Grim draw close behind her.

“Oh, you will never find her.” She turned, palm outstretched to ward him away. He knew as well as she that the trickle of a few moments were all she needed to welcome the arms of oblivion, but oddly his eyes narrowed. Without warning Grim’s hand snatched to grab her wrist, wrenching her freshly scarred palm to the scrutiny of his attention. Recognition flashed before his temper flared, curling his lips thin. Her understanding of him shuddered in that moment, the crush of a thousand lives weighted into a single moment. Fear licked her spine as she tried to prize herself free. The river was abruptly forgotten. His fingers squeezed like steel. “What did you take?”

With the Ascendancy’s constant attention devoted to the United States, his chief of staff was diligent about honing his focus to the highest priority needs. China and the Pacific Rim were operating business as usual. Africa and South America were in stasis; operations destabilizing the region were ongoing. Notably, negotiations with Australia were narrowing. It was a matter of months before they were incorporated into the Custody. The tiny island continent was remarkably independent, but inflation, droughts, and trade eroded their resolve. It was a matter of time.

Within their own borders, numerous campaigns were in motion. Consuls devoted to public affairs, government relations, culture, and media were inundated with as much work as ever before. Media coverage of the ball and all its aftermath needed a heavy hand, but Nikolai approved their internal efforts. The dividends were paying already. An attack orchestrated by Atharim were remained the standard explanation. Enough witnesses were there to report it, and enough censuring contained the Ascendancy’s reaction, coming to the rescue of all once again.

Word eventually arrived about the waves Evelyn made in DC. Her sudden change of stance from pro-Custody relations to pro-annexation was startling, but the darling Senator had a way of convincing everyone that it was the most obvious and best choice for their future. It was almost as if she had been of such a mind the entire time. Her own party would fracture now, and the splintering would not be overcome. As soon as the work destabilizing the south catalyzed, then the platform upon which Texas may succeed would be fully built. The end was now.

Nikolai was quite content when he went to bed that night. All the pieces of this great game swirled into focus. It was time to let them fall as he willed.

Last night had been different.  Never before had Nox gotten up on stage.  Never before had he danced for others much less provocatively.  But the girls were so great to work with.  Nox hadn't had a chance to catch up with Raffe after the night ended, he was so fucking tired and he had an early morning so Nox had pretty much crashed after.  Thankfully he hadn't put it on multiple times.  They still had some things to work out but all in all it went well and the girls raved about the final cut of music.  Nox was proud of his work.  

Nox woke up sore but nothing a good stretch and workout wouldn't cure.  Sore was a way of life most days.  And being sore from dancing well while new was completely worth it.

The routine of morning was simple and Nox tried to keep the noise down, he was up earlier than usual, and probably much earlier than the late night people were used to.  But Nox didn't sleep much anyway.  He yawned as he sipped at his coffee and pulled Sage's contacts from the storage unit he kept all his hunting things in since leaving Dorian's.  There was no point in trying to haul it around when he moved a lot.  Or at least that had been the plan. 

Nova followed at his heels and yipped at the person passing by the locker to their own.  Nox checked his bag a third time to make sure he had everything he might need.  An ammo sling was slung over his body carrying several vials of ordinary things.  Nox wished he had time to make a batch of napalm but he didn't.  He'd have to fix that later, hunting was going to be a thing again - and he knew with his new job it was going to be.  

There was baby powder, glass shards, metal pellets, pebbles to name a few things that were stationed in each vial.  Each one meant to do damage or disorient a person with diminished use of the power.  When the strength to stand became paramount or to conserve if it was going to be a long fight.  Either way Nox would be prepared.  He strapped a few guns to his belt and put the rest in the bag.  The compact cross bow was folded and stored in the bag too.  Fighting these little creatures, a cross bow wasn't going to come in handy, but against an Oni it was safer to use with the right aim.

Nox was early to their meet up point.  The sun was still asleep as he sat down against the wall of the mouth of the tunnel.  He sipped his coffee and dipped into the power of the gods and pulled a discarded glass bottle to him and started the process of crushing it into a fine powder.  Breathing glass shards wasn't a fun prospect.  And Nox had found another use for it in scattering the laser from a sniper.  it came in handy as long as you didn't breath it in.  It wasn't something you could use around people - that would be dangerous.

Nova sniffed around the tunnel entrance as they waited.  This was the first time that Nova was going hunting with him.  Hopefully the pup listened and didn't get wrapped up in the chaos of it all.

So we're getting an announcement today. Confirmation of the casting rumour maybe?

Honest, where does a guy have to go to get a decent dinner around Moscow?

He grinned as he walked up to Kallisti. In Chicago, the only time he found himself in a strip club was when he was interviewing suspects in a crime. Not the sort of situation when he paid much attention to the stage. He wasn’t dead, but he was a professional.

His hotel was across the river, someplace far more affordable than in the downtown quadrants. Plenty of restaurants stood between the hotel and the red light district, but this place had incredible reviews online, and a guy had to eat, even Andre.

He wore a chartreuse button-down, sleeves cut short around his biceps and navy-blue pants that split at the ankles into a flare. Maybe he overpacked for the trip; clearly not.

He hung out at the bar before the show started.

A few weeks ago I changed my settings so that the PM's alert my email, and it works okay. But sometimes they don't go to the email. I had 3 when I logged on today but I checked the email and there's no alert. any ideas?

Jivana wasn't really known for throwing big bashes.  At least not here in Moscow, but their new research facility and business branch's open would change that.  This was where Cruz would take the family business.  VP of RnD was not his title yet, but it was his as soon as he graduated from Moscow University.

And his grandfather had spend a pretty fortune on the new facility in the heart of Moscow.  All before his father betrayed him.  This was all planed and set in stone, and now Cruz was here.  Not that he didn't want to be here however, he loved Moscow, right in the center of the world where the most powerful people pushed and shoved to get the Ascendancy's attention.  Cruz had no desire for that, but the chance to learn from the greatest mind was something that he longed for.  He envied Nox in having met the man personally on several occasions. Though Nox didn't exactly think it was such a great thing, and his attitude probably had a lot to do with it, stupid Americans.

Though without Nox Cruz wouldn't be here.  He'd probably be dead.  It was Ivan who had helped him stay alive, but it was Nox who gave him the tools so he didn't blow himself up.  And that was more important than just surviving.

But now dressed in a brand new tux Cruz was first and foremost the heir to the Jivana throne - when his grand father retired, Cruz would get the mantle.  CEO of Jivana.  One of the most prestigious medical equipment and research facilities in the world. The Vega family legacy, and he was sole heir to it.

They were hosting the grand opening in the lower level of the new facility.  The lobby, and several conference rooms were dedicated to hosting special events to show case the technology and their research projects coming to the building upon it's final opening stages.  It was an open bar, mix and mingle type event.  Soft music played through the hidden speakers and there were presentations everywhere to be found.  Jivana was showing what it had to offer the community - not only projects but the wealth it brought to the city.  Not to mentioned the new jobs.

Cruz didn't sit at some table and wait.  He walked around the gathering at his grand father's side.  If he was a younger version of his father, Senior Vega was what he'd look like when he was that age.  There was no denying the family resemblance.

"Come Cruz, let's meet our guests."  Emilio Vega said as he straightened out the fabric of Cruz's lapels and they were out on the floor making a name for himself.

Beto sat at the bar nursing his drink, a Moscow Mule. Appropriate, he supposed. Irritation roiled in him. That, in itself, bothered him immensely. This was his first night out in days, the last few having been spent trying to regain his balance or composure. For his entire life, he had been a tight rope walker, balance pole shifting right, then left. One never got used to the tight rope, with its endless drop into oblivion always threatening. There were no nets here. But he had gotten used to it.

He had to, after all.

But now, it felt as if the rope had gotten thinner, the balance pole shorter. And there was a breeze. No. A gale. All of which was to say it had turned into a real struggle. A surprise, after 39 years of equilibrium.

Leviathans of the deep slowly but inexorably undulated upward from the depths, large miasmic bubbles of air already starting to break the surface. He could feel it. That walk was getting harder.

His eyes scanned the mirror at the bar, searching for someone. He wasn't sure what. He couldn't get Ana's face out of his mind. That day in the tattoo shop was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Not simply because he had been a virgin up until that point. Something had happened to him, something glorious and dangerous. He had been unlocked. He had seen the face of God.

Even now, despite the smells of smoke and alcohol, he could smell her, a heady cloud fogging his brain, could taste her on his tongue, sweeter still despite the vodka. Images of that day replayed in his mind, its violence and lust, dripping sweat stinging eyes, salty sweet nectar, bites to draw cries of pain, ecstasy and warmth and softness, hands and fingers gripping, squeezing tightly, muscles corded, gasps and wet humid breath commingled, tongues and teeth and lips, until he was simply unable to contain the entirety any longer. He had exploded. And for a moment time itself stopped.

He was in the void, outside himself and the universe. And God stood there, a presence he could only sense, there and not there, revealed in all its glory. And Beto wept in awe, smelling colors he could not imagine, tasting sounds beyond comprehension, an orgy of synesthesia that enveloped and embraced him filling him with meaning and understanding and purpose...

...that left him empty and lost, a dried out husk devoid of life when it stopped.

He hungered for it again. The craving gnawed at his mind, pushing and pulling him to this and that side of his rope.

Ana had disappeared. He had never even gotten her number. Sergei had not been forthcoming despite his best efforts. So far. He was getting desperate.

There were other girls, though. It had taken only a few tries before he found himself once again with a woman. But the experience was insipid, washed out. Dull. By the end he found himself fighting just to keep his interest going. Not that she had noticed. He had been in a frenzy by the end, chasing the sensation, the memory of Ana and God keeping him awake. Barely.

That happened two more times. He found himself lost, now, unsure of what had changed. Emotions and desires he had never before felt hounded him mercilessly.

It was a gaping mouth, an infinite pit of need. For 39 years, God had hidden from him. Beto couldn't let him hide again.

It had been a while since she had gone to the University to look up heart defeats.  It had been even more time since she posted the video looking for her family.  There had to be family.  But Sterling had heard nothing from anyone.  Not a peep from the web.  Again she'd gotten lost in the cracks.  Lost in the data of the world.

And even worse was she was dying in bed of a fever and chills.  She couldn't move.  Couldn't eat.  Sleep was even hard.  Not a thing in the world was working.  Her mother kept her on anti-inflammatories.  And she was drinking her weight in cold water.  The fever persisted.  

Sterling had a visit with her doctor.  He said nothing was wrong with her heart.  So they kept Sterling home from school.  She watched movies and read books.  Video games were too taxing.  Sometimes even holding the book was too much.  And not only was she alone in her room - she was under quarantine.  Parent initiated quarantine - nothing like a WHO investigation or anything like had been in the news.  Whatever had made Sterling sick wasn't related to her birth.  

But there was nothing she could do but sleep the pain and fever away.  Sleep was so hard when you were so drained, and hot and when it did come it was strange dreams filled with images she didn't understand.