[i]Salvatore Kiernen King. He was a man of loose muscle and sharp features, with thin black hair that came to a crisp flip at the bangs, and delicate light eyebrows that he swore he didn't pluck. Sal was a handsome man; the kind of handsome that started fights between highschool girls and made them argue over whose hidden passionate love would transcend more boundaries than the other's. He'd been fired countless times for this, and legally he couldn't do anything about it. Was it wrongful termination to discharge him for being too handsome? Perhaps. Was it wrongful termination to discharge him for being the cause of an infinite amount of broken noses and collapsed teenage egos and angry mothers? Perhaps it still was. He couldn't afford a good enough lawyer to argue it for him, however. So Salvatore Kiernen King became jobless.

Sal didn't have much else to do besides teach. He was an unnaturally gifted athlete with good hair and strong genes, but he was not into sports. He was intelligent, too-- beyond simple arithmetic and general education. He could've easily been hired by one of his friends or gone back to college for another degree, but unfortunately those things did not fit Sal either. He knew he'd have to keep looking for a job doing what he loved, but it would have to be something out of the ordinary. Something perhaps as strange as he was.[/i]

----

It was eleven, now. Perhaps anticlimactic, but no bells sounded with this stroking of the hour. In fact, everything seemed silent. Strange's magic popped like a bubble, letting the city overwhelm him and the group in a sudden gush of noise and emotion. He watched Clarissa suddenly sprint away, adamant on maintaining her independence, but the Hour of Unluck gave her no favors. Strange hoped the crash wouldn't be painful, for when his magic crumpled, the city reappeared in full with its inhabitants-- including an intimidatingly large man who stood suddenly in front of Clarissa as her momentum peaked.

The rest of the group, to Strange's brief relief, exchanged names and introductions. That was a start; hopefully it would be enough.

Strange turned toward Smith, acknowledging him with a smile from the heavens. The man's comments had initially put Strange on edge, but instead they warmed his broken heart and left the strange man with the straw hat hopeful for long enough to matter. "You are a good man, Smith. Just like the rest of them. I am putting you in charge of this operation. Find Kresnik, he will guide you."

Walking forward, Strange found his way toward a glittering fountain that was actually the landmark that drew the group together. Atop it stood the famous Angel of the Waters, proud and erect. Strange slid his fingers up and down a small stretch of hieroglyphics at its base, spitting at it and rubbing thick red rust away in miniature gratings. He turned toward Smith and the group, who he assumed now would be hearing a painful thumping in their ears, which would progressively get worse as they waited in the city.

"You must enter the fountain. You will come out the other side, wet but safe. Find Kresnick from there. As I've said, I am deeply sorry for this. But you all do not have a choice."

The thumping intensified to a point where thinking became a cruel torture for them. Strange, hoping to expedite the process, grabbed the nearest of the group and shoved them hard toward the fountain. Or into it.