Reality Crisis

Aidan couldn't say exactly why he was in the ruins. Eric had not told him to be. Ever since he'd helped to destroy the wendigo, though, he'd felt the need to come back out. Perhaps he was looking to be a hero again, save somebody again, make sure that the citizens of New Troy didn't have anything more to worry about. This was the lie that he told himself. The reality, and he knew it, deep down he knew it, was that he was looking for Dean. He wanted to know if his friend was his friend again. He wanted to know if he could return to die Festung and start the process of rebuilding what he had broken.

If not Dean, then maybe he would see Sam. He could ask the taller Winchester about his brother, find out how he felt now. If the saving had done anything to lessen the anger that Dean felt about the betrayal. If maybe Dean were relaxing a bit more on his kill-on-sight stance, or if it had just been that day. If saving Sam had bought Aidan just that one day of peace and familiarity.

They were hunters. They couldn't stay in the city to kill off the things that they didn't want to see in this world. They would have to venture out. Aidan just hoped that they wouldn't be venturing out for him, specifically. He didn't think that Sam would do anything to help. He didn't think that Sam would even accompany Dean on a task like that. He didn't seem to want to, and Fred wouldn't want him to, either. That didn't mean that Dean wouldn't. He knew that. It made his heart ache to know, but lying to himself might just end up with one of them dead.

Out in the ruins, he could escape. He could run. He didn't have to risk Pam or Eric, or even John, seeing the confrontation and aiming to kill Dean because he'd attacked not only another vampire, but somebody they'd given their protection to. In the ruins, Dean would remain safe past his expressed anger. It would make Aidan sad to know that was how his friend still felt, it would crush him to see the backslide into the hurt and determination that had mixed in Dean that day in his apartment. But at least then, he would know.

He heard the sound of a pack of wild dogs, not having any fear of them for himself, just noting where they were so that he wouldn't have to deal with them. He didn't think there was anybody else out here. Not now. As much as he hoped to turn a corner and run into Dean again, Aidan didn't think that was going to happen today.

As night fell around the traveling band, so too did the rain - cold and uncomfortable. The jacket she wore was too large to protect her from the worst of it; the wetness trailed down her neck and went straight under the leather. She was chilled to the bone -- but there was a promise of shelter just ahead, rising in the gloaming.

There were only a few who had come with her to Sanctuary, the stopping point between die Festung and New Troy. Evey had never seen such a place before. She took in the establishment briefly, before her traveling companions led the way into the place. The way it integrated with the trees reminded her of a long-ago book she'd read, back in London. Evey was too tired to smile at the whimsical thought that she should look for small humanoids with fuzzy feet.

The two who walked into Sanctuary with her seemed to have dissolved. Evey looked around, surprised that she'd let her tired thoughts wander so wide as to completely miss where her companions had gone. She swallowed and turned in a circle in the rain. But they were gone. They were gone. She swallowed again.

Evey'd woken face-down on her bed, her fingers still grasping her canvas duffel bag in one hand and a shirt in the other. She rolled over onto her back and sat up, thoughts sifting through the strangest dream/vision she'd had. Peter. Carlos. She wanted to talk with them both. She would talk with them both. But not now. Now wasn't the time.

She shoved the last of her shirts into the duffel bag, then adjusted the strap so she could wear it tight against her back. When she tugged Aidan's jacket on over it and zipped up, no one could see it. Her mind was still cluttered from the vision -- a distraction she couldn't afford. With some focus, she packaged the entire incident away and stored it for later. A familiar calm descended, and with it, a sharpening purpose. She drew a breath, then stepped out of her flat and locked the door.

"I'm leaving," she said silently, directing the thought straight for Peter. Could he hear her? She thought he could. There were nights when she felt him touch her mind briefly - a kind of hello, a kind of quiet friendly nudge. Lately, they'd even talked a bit... If one could call it that. It was nice, she thought, to have a conversation with him every night, even briefly. She didn't want him surprised to find her in the wilds tonight.

The small group of people at the gate were waiting for her, geared up for their foray outside the walls. They each had different reasons for leaving - foraging, travel, hunting. Some of them would go all the way to New Troy. Some of them would return to die Festung. For her part, she hadn't answered when she'd been asked why she wanted to join up with them -- and none of them had pressed her.

They struck out. Evey didn't look back.

Carlos was in the process of double checking the spells on the wall around die Festung when suddenly everything around him changed. Instead of being outside, he was in a room that he didn't recognize. The only thing keeping him from panicking entirely was the fact that Peter and Evey were both in the same room, and the sense that he was somehow supposed to be there.

There were maps pinned to a bulletin board on the room. One of which that Carlos recognized as die Festung and the area around it. there were pins on each of the maps and he realized he was in the middle of gesturing at them as though coordinating something.

An attack. He wasn't sure why, but that answer felt right.

Carlos focused in on one thing in particular about his hands. He'd been about to pull them out of whatever gesture they were in when he stopped and stared at his left hand. Most notable, his left ring finger, which currently had a silver ring.

But why? Why did he have what looked like a wedding ring, and where the hell was he? He turned to Peter and Evey, searching their faces for any sign of similar confusion.

What the hell was going on?

No one at the hospital had raised an eyebrow when Evey came in through the Emergency door. It didn't seem to matter that no one could find an appointment for her when she said she was to see Peter Petrelli. The hospital cooler she'd brought with her got no suspicious glances. They simply waved her into a room not unlike the first one she'd been in.

It hadn't seemed like a busy night, not the way it'd been with the zombies. Even still, she found herself waiting. Already, she knew exactly what she wanted to say. She'd mapped it out completely, then mapped out all the possible responses Peter might give her, then mapped out her responses to that, then repeated the exercise. Now she sat, silent and steady. The urgency was there, still -- always, until this was done -- but she knew her path.

Regardless of the steps she and Carlos had taken, regardless of all the clandestine research, this seemed the only feasible way to achieve what had seemed to be all but impossible. There were many unknowns, but they would only remain so if she allowed them to.

When the door pushed forward, Evey slid from the chair where she'd been waiting.

"We need more space...because he's really big, and we could be closer to his brother without being on top of his brother." Fred's arms were full as she walked up the stairs to her floor. "No, that sounds like we're trying to do something dirty. It's not like I can mention Dean's other lodger. Probably shouldn't talk about him anyway. I mean what if someone hears, that could really start trouble. Pretty sure they don't want that getting out. Then again, pretty sure you shouldn't be talking to yourself."

The brainy Texan shifted the box with gadgets and doodads galore and tried to get at her keys. She thought she had them in one had, but seemed she had them in the wrong hand. Sure, she could open the door with either hand, but it was easier a certain way.

"You're nervous." She sighed, finally giving in and putting the box down on the ground to work the lock and key without little hinderance. "So, talk to yourself. It only really is something to worry about when someone hears you. Then again, you could say you're practicing, which is what you're doing." She nodded the groaned. "I'm. It's what I'm doing."

Fred wished that Sam was around, but she wanted to do this for him. They'd decided to get another apartment, one better suited for everything that was Fred and Sam, and she wanted to have it ready or at least acquired before he got back from the hunting trip. She had no idea how long he would be away, but she could do something more than just dream about a slightly larger place that would give him a room for his library and her more table space for her projects. It wasn't too much to ask was it?

Shock folded under denial, which stayed just long enough for her to get used to the lining of Aidan's jacket. Evey kept to herself for a couple days, which was just as well. She had plenty to read. But around the third day, Evey couldn't sit still in her flat anymore. His jacket still smelled faintly of spice and copper, and every time she flung it off, she went back and put it back on again, hating it, hating the draw, hating the foolishness, the wasted energy, the sense of utter uselessness! That uselessness, above all, had been closer to her than even the damned black jacket. She could feel it crawling under her skin, corroding any hope she'd been clinging to.

When pacing couldn't burn off her restlessness and reading started to make her eyes blur, Evey finally stalked out of her flat, intent on heading out into the city -- and away from this damnable place for a while. She tugged the zipper up close to her chin and turned the key in the lock, then shoved her hands angrily into her pockets. But her eyes caught on the numbers 702 instead.

She'd meant to walk away. She'd meant to walk right past the door. But instead, she was standing at the threshold, glaring holes into the numbers designating the empty flat. "A lot of good it did," she muttered at the chipping paint. "And for what?" she demanded, her voice raising just a little. But the door couldn't answer. The anger grew, at that, ridiculous as it was. She wanted answers. Explanations. No, not just that. Without a single thought, that anger kicked the door of apartment 702, then kicked it again. Then she pulled a hand out from her jacket (his jacket), and then she pulled the other out. One palm splayed against the spot where there'd been dried blood. Her brow creased. The knuckles of the other crashed into the door beside the stain she'd scrubbed off.

"You stupid fucking sod!"

It was one of those times that Peter felt he needed some rest. Or at least, his body thought so. He had been sitting quietly in a large chair in his apartment. He had been teaching Leeloo again, and working on table manners over dinner. She had fallen asleep fairly quickly, her limbs ramrod straight the way one might lay in a coffin. She didn't shift or turn in her sleep, and though the way she slept didn't look comfortable to Peter, it certainly seemed serene and restful. No dreams seemed to disturb her, no muttered sounds, no trembling.

( He didn't know how long he'd been asleep )

(Backdated to this night .)

Nothing else carried that dark brown crust, nothing other than blood. It looked like a hand print, smeared and flaky on the door of apartment 702, and the sight of it had Evey banging on the door, uncaring about the noise she was making. She didn't call the name out; she didn't call out hers. She just beat on the door until her fist hurt -- and then she ran into her own apartment the next door down. Her hands were shaking as she searched through the pockets of a pair of jeans. A minute later, she was on her knees in front of Aidan's door, tugging out one of the tools in her lock pick set. But as she put her hand on the door knob to begin, it turned a little. The sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach increased. She paused, then glanced up and down the deserted corridor. Then turned the door knob.

The apartment door opened, and a cold wind gusted over her. She jerked to her feet and stowed the tools in her pocket. Aidan never would have left his door unlocked. Her eyes stung. It was the wind, it was the wind. She stepped inside, saw snow drifting across the floor... The window was open -- and it looked like it'd been open for a while. She closed his apartment door and leaned against the wood. For a few seconds, she did nothing. Her eyes burned. And then, squaring her shoulders, she pushed herself away from the door and walked into the apartment.

The pantry door was open. A few items were on the floor. There was a cleared space on one of the shelves. Tea, Evey imagined, the same tea he'd been looking for the night of the garlic feast. Unconsciously, her eyes drifted to the open bathroom door, then jerked away again, fell on a kitchen drawer that was half-closed. Familiar bits of paper were just inside; when she lifted one, she saw her own handwriting. Very carefully, she replaced the note and closed the drawer. Snow had caught on her face and left wetness. Of course, it was snow.

Most of the clothes that would've been in his closet were gone. Some hangers were on the floor. She'd seen this sort of thing before; she'd seen it when people left in a hurry, pursued by Norsefire or Fingermen. Quietly, she began collecting the hangers from the floor and putting them back where they belonged. She gently shut the closet door, and then went to the window and stood staring into the night. She didn't know what she was trying to find. The drop was so far... so far. But she knew what had been living beside her. Perhaps it wasn't so far for the likes of him.

"Damn you, Aidan Waite," she said, pulling the window closed, then closing the curtains, too. But there hadn't been anger in her voice, no matter how angry she wanted to feel. One arm wrapped around her waist, she went back into the apartment, this time, going slower. There was a blanket tacked to the wall that their apartment shared. Under it, traces of broken wallboard, chipped paint. She lifted the edge, looked... Her free hand traced the myriad indentations briefly, before she straightened the blanket back over the scars again.

She set the pantry to rights, next. She washed a glass and dried it and set it in the cabinet. There was nothing much else to do. There was a basket of dirty laundry, which she set on her hip before heading back for the apartment door. When she passed by a chair tucked under the dining table, she noticed he'd left his jacket - the same one she'd seen him in the first night they'd met. A whisper of a smile slid across her mouth. Before she could think too much about it, she tugged the supple black leather jacket off the chair and tossed it over her shoulder. He could have it back when she saw him next.

And that thought straightened her back, squared her jaw. She walked out of his apartment and closed the door softly. Then she took the time to lock it from the outside.

It'd been three days since she last saw Aidan - not for lack of attempts on her part. She must either have the world's worst luck at being home at the same time Aidan was, or the damned blighter was purposefully avoiding her. It could have been either of those things. She'd admittedly been spending most of her waking hours outside - either searching for Carlos and Aidan in die Festung, or blurring her 'Chosen' status and blending with the rest of the people here so she could better understand the patterns and rhythms she'd have to duck at Belia's. But as far as she knew, it was Day Four since Aidan had anything to eat. They -- all of die Festung -- were nearly out of time.

Evey stepped back into the Chosen building about 30 minutes before sunset. It had been another full day of unremitting disappointment. The good news is that although she'd walked around the entire day full of caution and fear, she hadn't seen a single zombie, hadn't needed to run or hit anything. Maybe it was over. She blew on her hands, trying not to hope for something so wonderful as that, as she hurried down through the corridors toward room 104.

Her first note from three nights ago had been on the door when she came back the next night. And she'd added a second note two nights ago, when he didn't answer the door then, either. Both those notes were gone from the door now, and that gave her hope that perhaps, perhaps... She knocked vigorously. "Carlos!" she called at the flaking paint over the door. From somewhere else in the building, a door opened and closed, causing a shifting in the air here in the corridor. And a rustling. She looked to the sound -- squinted at the bits of paper whispering in the corner a handful of meters down at the end of the corridor. Surely those weren't...

She knocked again. "Carlos!" And waited again. And waited. And then stalked to the end of the corridor. But they were her notes after all.

((Backdated to 1/10))

The door to her flat closed in front of the sight of Aidan, flesh burning. She'd done that. She didn't know, didn't know what'd it'd do...

"Oh, God. Aidan."

There wasn't time. For anyone. Not anymore. She shoved shaking hands through her hair, squared her slight shoulders. The idea had been sound, even if Aidan wouldn't go with her. It was the best chance - the hospital - and it'd buy everyone a few extra nights. Hopefully that would be enough. She left the splinters on the carpet in front of her kitchen pass-through and started stripping out of the clothing she'd intended on bloodying. Jeans were better for the next step.

Minutes later, her short hair was pulled back in a low tail, secured by a tied strip of broken elastic. She'd drowned her pale skin under layers of cotton, sealed what warmth there could be under quiet dark selections. Setting her baseball bat on her shoulder, she slid into the kitchen for a glass of water, then two, then three. Then slid her keys into her palm. No more delay.

Fear left a bitter taste in the back of her mouth. She jumped up and down in place four times, huffed air out of her lungs, then jerked her apartment door open quickly, closed again, locked.... and then the stairs.

And then the zombies. Dark alleys, shadowed streets, groans that ripped terror straight through her. But she was quick and stealthy, she wasn't foolish with her movements, and the only zombie she encountered, she outran.

The hospital was already secured. She ran through the defense line and straight to the desk -- and was stopped with paperwork. Stopped, but not for long after she'd listed her address as the Chosen building. Even without saying what was troubling her, she was shown to a room to sit and wait.

And pace.

And wait.

She'd nearly made up her mind to begin rummaging quietly through whatever she could find here, when the door cracked open.

The day started just like all the other days, really. Aidan getting up, getting himself ready for work, and then heading out. Doing what work he could to help the sick and wounded, being cut out early, spending a bit of time with Dean, talking to people around die Festung to get any news or rumors, then heading back home. Sometimes Evey dropped by, or sometimes he knocked on her door and said hello. Their conversations were usually brief, Aidan wasn't sure what to do with her since their moment in his bathroom amidst the steam and his vampire issues.

At some point in the evening, he would consume his half a bag of blood to sustain himself. The pain ripping through him from the curse that had been placed on his head. He'd still not told anybody about that. Evey had no idea why he sounded like he was in agony when he fed himself. It was just another problem that needed to be fixed, and he couldn't see the use in dealing with it until other things were worked out. It was so minor in the grand scheme.

Except, when Aidan went to his pantry and opened the medical cooler, it was empty. Why had he not noticed? Or had he, and he'd just blocked it out? Had he just been reaching in, not paying attention like he should have been? Just grabbing for his dinner and ignoring everything else? He'd been slowly getting hungrier, because half a bag was not really what he should have been drinking to keep himself in optimal shape. There were days when, really, he should have been having two. Stressful days, or days with emergencies.

Angry at himself, Aidan flung the cooler across the room, directly at the spot in his wall that he'd been using as a punching bag. The hinges on the lid snapped and the top flew off. He frantically searched other places in the kitchen, just in case. Maybe he'd stashed a bag somewhere else. Maybe he'd put one in a cupboard on accident. In the end, though, with all the doors on everything open and his apartment a mess, there was nothing for him.

This was it, then.

Everything was about to go to shit.

Rapping her knuckles thrice on door 104 in the Chosen building, Evey wondered just how she got here.

Oh, it was nothing to find Carlos' place; but it wasn't nothing to be before his door. Evey had long ago learned not to rely on anyone - no one, save herself. Even when someone had the best of intentions, there was always the chance that they would let you down. But more than that, Evey also knew that everyone - everyone - everyone had their weak point. Press in the right spot, and anyone would fold. It was a trick to learn to live without weakness, to live completely free. And it was so much easier to do it when there was no one to care about.

Since Evey arrived in die Festung from some strange misbegotten twist of fate, she'd been on the losing end of the battle for her freedom. For the last two days, she'd been cloistered in her flat alone, trying to make sense of what she was doing. Every so often, she'd pace the side wall of her flat, pretending not to listen for sounds in the apartment next door. She knew what trouble she was in, knew that if she continued down the path she found herself on, she would create her own weaknesses. She would create her own chains.

It was a terrifying prospect. To know that she was the author of what might be her own downfall. To know it, and still to choose it. And choose it she had, as she stood here in front of Carlos Ramirez' door. To care about another person was to open wide your own defenses and to abandon the safety of the isolation that kept her inviolable.

"It's Evey," she called on the threshold, staring at the chips in the paint on the door in front of her. You're such a fool, she thought to herself, This is not wise.

Aidan sped through the streets, away from Dean, as fast as his body would take him. He knew that he didn't really have to worry about being seen by the mortal eyes around him, but he still took to side streets and alleys where he could. He just wouldn't risk it.

The first thing he needed to do was to get behind a closed door. Somewhere that he couldn't be seen by anybody who might say something. And that was pretty much everybody. Then, he had to find out where to get the goddamned tea. It would take too long to try to seek out herbs that would work for his purpose, though he was sure that if there was a garlic substitute, there would be things out there that would stand in.

When he got to his apartment, Aidan burst through the door, sending it slamming into the wall. He hadn't meant to do that, but he was in such a rush and not thinking of much outside of the present problem. He turned to see the knob embedded in the wall and made a face, though the whole thing was forgotten quickly. His brain latched onto an idea and he was at his pantry before he could give much consideration to what he would do about the hole he'd just made.

After returning from the City, Aidan had looked in the pantry and seen a box. Something that he'd not placed there. There had been a word across it in plain black lettering. He'd not given it much thought after the first sighting, because of the fact that he hadn't thought he'd ever run into garlic in this world. He'd shoved it somewhere out of the way and put it out of his head. Now, desperate, Aidan was ripping through the pantry looking for it.

There had always been something about the rain that Mag loved, and though she couldn't place exactly what it was, she knew it was there. Every drop seemed to tell her a story, the sound of the same droplet crashing to the ground was like music to her ears, and she couldn't help but be soothed by it. Even her soul was satisfied, something that had been troubled for the last few years, and it almost surprised her that a little bit of rain in a strange world could put her at such ease. It had, however, and she was grateful. It had been a long few days, getting used to everything being so different, adjusting to a city that seemed almost broken as she was, but she didn't mind. At least here she was free, and it didn't come with a price. Well, despite the fact that this city seemed to be falling apart.

The rain was light, splashing the city with an array of different sized droplets, coating everything in it's moisture. The sky was dark, but Mag could sense that the sun was trying to peek through, to offer it's own sort of assurance against the black and grey clouds, though it hadn't quite yet burst forth. It seemed only to linger, and not be on the verge of committing to the idea of showing its face. That was okay with her, however, as she continued to enjoy the echo of the rain as it pattered against the broken buildings, the signs, the trees and the grass, and even the pavement below. There was just something about the rain.

Mag had been wandering around in what had seemed to be a park at some point, there was manicured grass sprouting up in patches, trying to survive whatever had happened here before she and the others had come, which was refreshing in a way. The fact that something here was trying to grow and thrive, it gave her confidence, even if it was just grass. When the rain had started, the light blanket of drizzle, Mag had taken shelter beneath a small covered pavilion that was home mostly to a set of picnic tables, one broken in the middle with one of the ends cast towards the sky, and the other end pointed at the concrete that the whole table had once sat snugly upon. The other table, however, was intact, and that was where Mag was perched, silently upon the table itself, legs hanging off of the side of the table, feet resting on one of the rusted bench seats. She wore a simple green dress something flowy and easy to manuver in. Where she was from, she had worn mostly dresses or skirts of some type, pants and jeans were really a fashion item that was basically non-existant in her time. On her feet were the same pair of silver flats she'd been wearing since her arrival here. Her long brown hair was recently washed, still drying in some parts, and had a natural wave to it as it cascaded down her back and around her shoulders. Her eyes swirled, beneath the light black eyeliner and natural shadow she wore. As far as makeup went, Mag tried to keep it simple, especially since she wasn't actually performing at that particular moment. There was no need for extravagant makeup.

She sighed softly, waiting for the rain to let up, listening to every small sound, glad she had decided to leave her apartment and venture out. As anti-social as she was, she tried to keep a distance from everyone in her world for her own reasons, she still liked to be outside once in a while.

It was just her way.

Molly was gone. As many times as Carlos reminded himself of that, it didn't make it any easier. Not even a little bit. He knew that he had something big to worry about right now, but with no sign of Sylar and Harry off on another rescue mission or whatever it was he might be doing at the moment, Carlos didn't have a whole lot to keep him distracted.

So instead, he opted for killing off brain cells in the hopes that that would help. He didn't even bother to try to track down some of the better quality alcohol that was rumored to have appeared in the basement of the chosen building. When it came down to it, he planned to just drink as fast as humanly possible and didn't care about taste. Or about how he'd feel in the morning.

He'd instead gotten himself a bottle of the local moonshine and after taking down a healthy portion of said drink, he was now singing loudly as he wandered (or perhaps weaved) through the streets of die Festung.

"And all the roads we have to walk are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
But I don't know how

So his britpop accent was probably lacking, but his gusto made up for it? Maybe?

Masks were all shapes, sizes, and colors. Staring into the wavy, cracked mirror hanging in her bathroom, Evey considered masks as she threaded her fingers through her short hair. For a good two years, now, she'd kept her head closely shaved, worn utilitarian jackets and unisex clothing, avoided all forms of makeup -- all in the name of anonymity. It had been a mask to shield herself from her former life. Now that her former life was apparently realities away, there was no sense in trying to keep her head shaved.

Even if there were, razors were in short supply here. Perhaps she could use a very sharp knife, but she didn't have one of those, and it would have to be a very, very sharp knife indeed to work at all. Giving her short hair a final straightening tug here and there, she stood back and eyed the work she'd done. Spiky, mussy --

The mirror shook with a thud. Evey frowned at the wall and grew very quiet, listening keenly. Another thud followed, this one harder than the first. It was accompanied by a muffled keening sound. To Evey, it sounded like pain. And this wasn't the first or the second or the third time she'd heard terrible things coming from the other side of the wall in her apartment. She kept a keen watch, but she never had seen the person who lived beside her yet. And she listened for the voices of others, but apart from the TV, never heard a single voice at all.

Except when that voice was groaning. She didn't know if her neighbor was male or female (probably male, given the impact and force that shook her wall so often in the past), and she had to confess that there was precious little she did know at all. But one thing she was absolutely sure about: She couldn't keep on living in ignorance. For better or worse, she was finding out tonight why the groans through the wall kept on coming.

Evey pulled on her jacket shoes, then hurried out her apartment door. A second or two later, she was knocking firmly on the door beside her own.

There was work to be done around die Festung. Really, there always was. For now, Carlos was helping in strengthening and adding new dimensions to the wards on the wall. Harry had laid the ground work, but having another layer of wards created by someone with a slightly different talent would never go amiss. Particularly with some of the creatures outside the wall.

Carlos had one eye out for said creatures even as he wandered around the wall, stopping every so often for extended periods of time so he could lay a layer of magic over the concrete.

Whenever he was casting, his shield gauntlet glinted in the sunlight and green magic danced from his fingertips and across the surface that he was directing it at.

The best way to get one's bearings, Evey had learned, was to find a place and watch.

The first day here, Evey had done just that. She'd climbed up into the second story of a broken down apartment building, dipping between sagging support beams and through broken doorways, to find a window where she sat and watched the street below her.

The people moved differently. Some carried an air of abject hopelessness -- those who continued living because there was nothing else to do but that and they weren't willing to end their own lives. Some moved like sharks, dominating, fierce and sure. These were the hungry ones, ready to climb their dark ladders. Some walked smoothly without drawing attention, while keeping their eye out on every corner and every street. These were the wise ones, the ones who had survived long enough to know better than to trust in anything. And some moved through the streets slowly. These were the most dangerous of all; these had nothing to fear.

She'd seen all this before; at least this was familiar. It would be dangerous for her to stay past the gloaming, but there were a few other characters that came out at night. If she could keep herself safe and far away from notice, she could learn how they appeared here, too. So she did, learning how the prostitutes walked here, learning how the criminals did, learning how the working class hurried home... learning all of it.

And when the night had truly sunk upon the city, Evey knew it was time to find a safer place to sleep. Someplace no one would look or want to look.

She headed down into the street and adopted the walk of the wise, slipping into the role she'd most often portrayed in her own London. As she did, she began scanning the alleyways for unsavory spots that no one would want to sleep in, that no one would give a second glance toward. She'd already given up hope for a place securely hidden; it was too dark to find such a thing.

Many people filled the street tonight, although one wouldn't guess it from appearance. But there were tell-tale signs. Metallic scraping. Muffled moans. Evey kept her head down, but her eyes were wide and keen.

There was the sense of falling, but not of movement. Her stomach dropped to her feet and she stumbled -- but nothing moved. Rather, the entire world faded: first, Inspector Finch, then the sound of the fireworks and explosions at Parliament, then the grimy balcony where she stood, then the overcast night sky.

Darkness. Darkness.

"Hello?" Evey called, and her voice echoed as if she were in some great cavernous void. She could not feel the ground under her feet.

A moment more of that wretched, empty silence -- the sound of wings or rushing water or a speeding train passing by -- and then she really was falling. The sound disappeared altogether and she had her first glimpse of a new set of constellations, the quiet hum of nighttime crickets, the brightness of the moon, before she landed, shoulder-first, on broken pavement in a city she didn't know.

Evey Hammond lay, gasping (or trying to), on a side street in die Festung.

Get up, Evey. Get up!

Still struggling with her lungs, she rolled to her side, eyes popping with the crushing sensation, then managed to get onto her hands and knees. And then to her knees. And then slowly, rolling onto the balls of her feet, she stood, hand reaching blindly for the first thing she could use to catch and lean against. Every instinct told her to hide.