Devika was holed up in one of the interrogation rooms, trying to remember to breathe. She could hear movement in the building, but was too afraid to go and see what it was. All she'd been able to do so far was to get here, where she figured there would be order in the chaos. All her life, she'd been taught that the police were guardians, protectors, the ones to go to when trouble was happening. Of course, her parents were both in the legal business, and worked closely with police to maintain order and justice.

Right now, there seemed to be neither order nor justice. There was just her, a chubby girl from Florida, clutching a metal bar that she'd found earlier. It had been ripped off the bottom of a table, and had a nasty edge to it. She didn't know what good it would do against one of those... things... but if someone human tried to hurt her, well, they'd be surprised. Hopefully.

To think, a month ago she had begged her parents to help her finance this trip, so she could enjoy the writer's retreat. A new environment, new people, new ideas, and connections. Well, she'd certainly gotten some of those.

The environment was hell on earth, and some of the people were no longer people. The few ideas she had were all geared toward getting her out of the police station in one piece. The only connection she was hoping for now was the one that kept her head attached to her shoulders. Inhaling slowly, she stood on shaking legs. Maybe she could get around the confrontation, and out of the station.