<div style="text-indent:1em;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Kanna &amp; OM, Ascot &amp; Dzel, XIII &amp; Helen</span></span></span></div><br/><br/>Gathered after the fall. Kanna shook out her head, dust and pebbles falling out of her now-tangled blue hair. "Owowow, Kanna is dizzy." She paid little attention to what the others were doing. She began to rifle through her back pack, making sure that none of her equipment had been broken.<br/><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Lilly, Morgan &amp; Damien, Kwatoko, Bodzil, Merin &amp; Kenman</span></span></span></div><br/><br/>Outside the night was warm, the sky had cleared, revealing the stars above. The moon was beginning to set on the horizon now, hovering over the distant hills and mountains.<br/><br/>Between them and that moon was the bodies, then the rolling dessert landscape...<br/><br/>There was moment among the dead. Not each and everyone, but here and there, perhaps five all together. With their burned skins, some missing limbs, all their eyes sagging and staring empty of intelligence or emotion. They were quiet, they did not groan nor moan like the undead in films. There as only the sound of cracking bones every so often. The soft rustle of the living dead pushing the actual dead aside so they might rise. Impossibly, the dead simply began to shrug and twitch, then stand, then walk...<br/><br/>In a moment they would hear gunshots to the south of the ruin. A long burst from an automatic weapon, then silence.<br/><div style="text-indent:1em;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Cornelius &amp; Wolfe</span></span></span></div><br/><br/>The twig was about as long as a finger. It sat on the pedestal. waiting.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Twain Hirsch and Cox</span></span></span><br/><br/>“Thank you,<span style="font-style: italic">Son</span>.” Twain groaned as he rose to his feet. He brushed himself off with his hands hands.<br/><br/>Then he smiled at the man. “You’ve got good guts,<span style="font-style: italic">good </span>instincts. Your right about me. We’re somethin’ else…”<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Heuly &amp; Zesiro</span></span></span><br/><br/>“Yeah… We kind of suck…” Zesiro muttered and got to his feet. He made sure all his equipment was present, some of it was busted, but it was all there. Then he and the soldier went toward the gunfire…<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="text-decoration: underline"><div style="text-align: justify;">Heuley, Zesiro, Twain, Hirsch &amp; Cox</div></span></span></span><br/>Zesiro was not surprised at all to see his brother held at gunpoint.  Nor did the story of 'zombies' surprise him either. He coughed a bit. “Hey...<span style="font-style: italic">Guys</span>...”  He would be careful not to give away any information to the soldiers. Twains rank, their relationship, or even the fact that they knew each other if that's how Twain wanted to play it...<br/><br/>“Hey, Bro!” Twain smiled even wider at his brother. “Fella’s this is<span style="font-style: italic">my </span>second and my brother, Zesiro. Brother, meet the United States Military.”<br/><br/>Zesiro sighed and looked at the ground, he couldn't help but be embarrassed.<br/><br/>Zes did not like to tell people that they were brothers. With Twain so old and Zesiro so young, people wondered about their kinship. Half brothers? Adopted brothers? Postmenopausal baby? Too many questions…<br/><br/>And who would want to admit they were related to someone like Twain?<br/><br/>“Yup, and<span style="font-style: italic"> we’re something else.</span>” Twain held out the eye in his palm at arms length. “I’ve got a bit of old fashioned black magic here.” He reached into one of his many pockets, slow enough that the soldiers would see he was not reaching for some sort of weapon, and pulled out a glass vial. He uncorked it with his teeth, and poured the pink liquid over the eye. He spit out the cork and threw the vial behind him “Now, if you’d like a demonstration put your hand right on<span style="font-style: italic">this guy</span>.”<br/><br/>He wanted them to touch the eyeball.<br/><br/>Zesiro shuffled his feet. And kicked a rock. He did not approve, but was reluctant to undermine his brother.<br/><br/>“Now, I<span style="font-style: italic">am </span>a doctor, so I must warn you that side effects may include migraines, nausea, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder… Which you guys are already gonna get, so, why not?”<br/><br/>Zesiro stuffed his hands in his pockets and shook his head. Twain had no manners. For example, these guys certainly did not believe in magic, at least not the kind Twain wielded before today. Now he wanted them to touch an eyeball? Yikes.<br/><br/>If anyone looked to him, he would shrug and try to be helpful. “It’s not going to hurt you. It’s just a sight-spell.” But then he looked to the ground. "But your not going to like it..."<br/><br/>Zesiro knew about magic alright, but he hated it. Magic had ruined his life.<br/><br/>Twain on the other hand couldn't get enough of the stuff, Magic had given him the most important things in his life. He rolled his eyes at his brother. "He's a pessimist. Come on. The longer it sits here the less we will see."