What: Reika Attacks New York Who: Open! When: 10 AM, Monday morning Where: Times Square
There had been a house. For the endless night, for the nightmare that never ended. For the memories written in blue ink on her body, all the way into the whites of her eyes. She could never escape them. Only watch, eyes open, and seek out the ones who came.
At 9:56 AM, it began to snow in New York city. The clouds appeared out of nowhere, coalescing with freakish speed, and the temperature dropped only after the snow had begun to fall. Tourists cried out with glee at what they imagined to be a complex publicity stunt. Real New Yorkers, the ones who prided themselves on never looking up, stopped what they were doing and stared at the clouds.
Cars screeched to a stop. Some people fought over the traffic jam that was now completely clogging Times Square. Others ran out of buildings to see what was going on.
Then, in the middle of the street, something began to appear. It wasn't sudden, not at all--it was a slow coalescence of shape and color. A hush fell over everyone. Noises from other parts of the city seemed muffled and quiet. Color seemed to drain from the air itself. And, in the ears only of those who were sensitive to such things, was the ringing of metal against steel...and the voices of little girls singing a lullaby.
"...if the priestess wakes from her dream- perform the rite of stakes her limbs pinned tight, lest the doors open wide and suffering unleashed on us..."
Out of the murky vagueness came the figure of a woman walking slowly down the middle of the street. She wore a blue hakama printed with flowers and holly branches, and nothing else. Blue markings covered her chest, arms, and face, and extended down beyond the top of her hakama, implying that the rest of her body was duly engraved. Her long black hair covered her eyes.
Her steps were deliberate and slow. Beat by beat, she made her way toward the crowd of people that had gathered. Some were trying to take pictures with camera phones. She seemed to not even see them there.
She stopped before a woman who was too startled to move. The woman with the blue tattoos held so still it was difficult to tell if she even realized the other woman was there. The New Yorker turned to her friends. "The fuck is this, fucking corporate bull--"
The hand of the tattooed woman shot out, grabbing the woman by the throat. The woman began to writhe, unable to scream. The tattooed woman spoke, her voice echoing out but her mouth never moving.
"I don't want to see..."
Even as tattoos began to run over the skin of the woman being choked, people began to run. One man launched himself at the tattooed woman, screaming for her to let the other woman go. He fell through her. She dropped the woman, who convulsed on the ground, and dove for the man, repeating the same words.
"Don't want to see..."
A horrific figure appeared over the head of the tattooed woman. It seemed to be a skull with wings, and it dove through the crowd, slowing people down to give Reika a chance to reach them. So easy, so easy. She didn't even have to chase them. These people, they would be her Holly. They would share her pain.