<strong>Four Corners Monument<br/>...one month later...</strong><br/><br/>The astounding thing, really, is that you made it here at all.  Things have slowly gotten worse as the initial effects of the various disasters have fully settled in.  What news comes from other parts of the world is not reassuring: massive witch hunts in Africa, a coup in Egypt, Great Britain reforested overnight in a manner similar to Silverville.  Japan announces the discovery of a lone survivor from the Tokyo Tower incident and all but turns the young woman into a pop icon overnight.  A new televangelist in Kansas who has a flair for some special effects that...don't look so artificial.  His ranting against the usual laundry list wouldn't be so problematic if Kansas weren't burning again and the Dust Bowl didn't seem to be making a comeback.  So being able to get on a plane and fly anywhere, then rent a car and drive out to the middle of the desert only to find nobody waiting for you but Alex is at one and the same time annoying and incredible.<br/><br/>Alex doesn't look much happier about it, either.  Resigned would be the right word.  Still, you are the only five people in the parking lot at the monument.  It's blisteringly hot, the air kiln-dry.  Around you, the heat haze colors the horizon a shimmering waterlike blue.  Alex, stripped to the waist, revealing a lean, wiry form as he perches on the hood of his truck, boots resting on the front fender, elbows on knees and hands clasped as he regards you all evenly.  His medicine bundle dangles and swings slowly in response to his movements.<br/><br/>"I got good news and bad news," he announces.  "Good news is, we're still here.  So it ain't as bad as ol' Greyface thought.  Bad news is, he ain't made it back from his errand.  Reckon that means it's up to me, an' I don't have more'n a tiny part of what you all need for this."<br/><br/>He hops down, runs one hand through his hair.  You're pretty sure the beefcake pose that almost results isn't intentional.<br/><br/>"So I guess...well, he left me one thing, just in case.  C'mon inside.  The center'll be as good a place as any.  Less chance of looky-loos hangin' out on Route 160."  He reaches back into the cab of his truck, pulls out a gym bag, scuffs his way into the monument proper.  When he reaches the 'official' circle that supposedly allows one to stand in four states at the same time, he digs into the bag and produces what looks like a paperweight: a polished bloodstone pyramid inlaid with some coppery metal.  He sets it in the middle of the circle and pulls a ragged bit of yellow legal paper out of the bag.<br/><br/>"Sure hope this works," you hear him mutter as he glances at the paper and then tosses it back into the bag.  He takes a long, slow, deep breath, then runs his thumb along one edge.  It proves to be sharp enough to cut skin, and he drags his bleeding thumb over the face of the pyramid before backing away and yanking a bandanna out of his back pocket to hold on the wound.<br/><br/>A moment later, you are looking at the somewhat translucent image of an elderly man with neatly groomed snow-white hair, a face like weathered mahogany, clad in an old-fashioned suit, complete with waistcoat, pocket watch, walking stick.  He smiles as if someone's told him he ought to remember to do so at moments like this.  The name 'Malcolm McDowell' comes to mind, or nearly so.<br/><br/>"Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi.  You're my only hope," he intones, his voice rich and deep and carrying the gravitas of mountains...then breaks into a much more relaxed smile.  "Ha!  Always wanted to say that!"<br/><br/>(Alex groans and facepalms and grumbles something about having the universe's most irritating boss.)<br/><br/>"Okay, my little joke aside, if you're hearing this then we've got worse problems than I've anticipated.  That means...well, it means bad.  And you're going to have questions that I can't anticipate.  I'll do what I can, but no matter how much like one of those holocron thingies from Star Wars this seems, it's more of a steadi-cam.  And I'm improvising, because if I try to script this out beforehand, it'd take too long.  So I'll sum up."<br/><br/>He pauses.<br/><br/>"Once upon a time, the Primordials made the Gods. The Gods overthrew the Primordials and in turn crafted both the Loom of Fate and the Exalted: the Solars to guide the world, the Lunars to help them, the Terrestrials to serve the Solars, and the Sidereals to guide them with prophetic wisdom.  Skipping a few thousand years, it all went to shit.  The Loom of Fate shattered, civilization collapsed, everybody died...and the world was made anew because life finds a way.  They were called the Abzulim, intelligent saurians with incredible psionic potential.  Their version of the Loom of Fate was two-fold.  Two massive psychic data networks, like virtual computers, which served the same purpose as the Loom.  One each for the two great schools of thought that dominated the cold intellectual meanderings of their great civilization.  And then, stop me if you heard this before, doom struck.  Only in their case it was a killer asteroid.  Some of the Abzulim had already sheltered in an effort to preserve their culture and survived, but they're not really important right now.  All you need to remember is that they survived and evolved, gradually becoming more mammalian to fit in when they saw Catal Huyuk rising and knew that a certain crafty ape was going to be a problem."<br/><br/>He pauses, grimaces.<br/><br/>"The current version of the undergirding of the cosmos is called the Department of Works.  And if you're listening to me blather on about all this, it means that something has gone very wrong.  It might be a civil war between the two Abzulim factions, but frankly those old lizards have gotten soft and developed emotional sides and settled down.  It might be that some idiot somewhere with too much heaven on their mind and too much weapons-grade plutonium on their hands found one of the barriers against the Outer Dark and blew it open.  Or something might simply have gone wrong, like that rock that wiped out the dinosaurs.  And that means that you, gentle listener, may be one of the only things standing between a total collapse of Human civilization as you know it and a veritable tsunami of non-Euclidian horror."<br/><br/>Another pause, this accompanied by a tired sigh.<br/><br/>"I can't prove it to you, but odds are that things are going poorly.  That's usually what happens.  Monsters from a thousand years of nightmares turn out to be real.  More natural disasters than you can threaten with a sword.  Omens and portents and false prophets with flashy miracles and no scruples to speak of.  So I need to ask for your help.  While you've been coming to grips with your new power...oh.  Right.  I didn't explain that part, did I?  Think of yourself as the spare back-up contingency disaster response plan.  In case of cosmic disaster, certain worthy persons get a little bit of a power up.  I hope it isn't too inconvenient.  Sort of the same thing as Exaltation, but I borrowed a few ideas from some comic books.  Every good mythology needs a bit of an update now and again, yeah? Anyway."<br/><br/>He coughs once, grins playfully.<br/><br/>"I take my laughs where I get them.  So sue me.  So here you are, coming to grips with whatever your powers are, and I'm down in the Department of Works trying to keep the universe from coming totally off the rails.  I wish I could tell you that everything's going to be all right.  I do know that<em>without</em>your help, it won't be.  Ever again.  You'll need to work together, too...because some of what's out there is big and ugly and eats cities for breakfast.  Now I can't force you to play ball, or to play nicely, but...call this an appeal to your enlightened self interest."<br/><br/>He sobers.<br/><br/>"If all goes well, I will catch up with you later.  If all goes well, I'm just running late because reasons.  If not...let's not think too much about that, because it won't be pretty.  My Harbinger will be in touch. "<br/><br/>The image fades, leaving Alex's soft curses in Lushootseed as accompaniment.  He plucks the pyramid from the circle, tosses it back in the gym bag, and turns to face you.<br/><br/>"Okay, so...any reasonable questions?"<br/><br/><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Four Corners in real life</div><div class="spoiler_body">https://www.google.com/maps/place/Four+Corners+Monument/@36.9986279,-109.0449916,205m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!3m4!1s0x873a25d2c9c70acd:0xc9945bd27b66993a!8m2!3d36.998984!4d-109.0451967?hl=en (https://www.google.com/maps/place/Four+Corners+Monument/@36.9986279,-109.0449916,205m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!3m4!1s0x873a25d2c9c70acd:0xc9945bd27b66993a!8m2!3d36.998984!4d-109.0451967?hl=en)</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Lushoo-whatsis?</div><div class="spoiler_body">Lushootseed is one of the Salishan language family. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lushootseed_language (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lushootseed_language)  </div></div><br/>