[b]Eight Days Before[/b]

For days, the leaden sky which menacingly loomed over them, notwithstanding their steady motion - truth be told, at a velocity which would be deemed unacceptably low whence they had come, owing to the unfamiliar driving practices with which most visiting continentals were constrained to come to grips - across the rather bleak landscape, had failed to deliver upon its threat of precipitation, which might have prompted them to jot down a note concerning the matter of “dispelling popular misconceptions about...”, had they been ever so rash in making assumptions (which they were) and actually interested in such an endeavour (which they were not). Notwithstanding the lack of sociological aspirations, they had unanimously concluded that the much-reviled Albionic climate might be better, or at least could not be quite so much worse than the only one they had hitherto known.

[color=8B4513][i]“Weren’t you thinking the same?”[/i][/color] Johannes inquired, without, however, turning to face his companion.
[i]“What?”[/i] the latter listlessly replied, in a tone dulled by a lengthy period of sitting and gazing before himself. One could, of course, argue that he had not been effectively doing anything beyond that, but that would probably elicited little more than genuine incomprehension.
[color=8B4513][i]“I say, that it has rained the entire time we were in Germany since we left, and some days before that, but not for a single hour while we have been here.”[/i][/color]
[i]“And Belgium.”[/i]
[color=8B4513][i]“What?”[/i][/color]
[i]“It’s also rained in Belgium.”[/i]
[color=8B4513][i]“Not in France, though.”[/i][/color]
[i]“A bit after the border, it did. What were you saying there, again?”[/i]
[color=8B4513][i]“No, I was saying, it seems to rain less here than in Germany, doesn’t it?”[/i][/color]
[i]“Could be. I think it also depends on the season. Don’t you remember we had a completely dry summer in Thüringen?”[/i]
[color=8B4513][i]“But that’s Thüringen.”[/i][/color]

Having thus apparently exhausted their stimulating conversational subject, the pair finally exchanged a weary glance, then simultaneously turned backwards for a brief moment and eyed the sleeping Nejat with a hint of envy. The third member of their diminutive party lay all but sprawled on the back seat of the slightly battered automobile, amid rucksacks and satchels of varying sizes and colours, leaning toward the less tasteful end of the spectrum, with his feet a mere few inches away from resting upon an already abundantly scratched suitcase. His fellow-travellers found this all the more outrageous as he had not in the least contributed to their progress through virtually half of the (semi)continent, nor to the journey from Dover to Southampton, and yet was able to blissfully slumber for a length of time which would have put a sloth to shame, whereas neither Johannes, who steered the unreasonably crammed vehicle, nor Turan, who attempted to navigate their way by cycling through a series of maps, with the predictable result of frequently driving them to meander in such parts as they would never have dreamt of visiting, were able to enjoy a night’s rest without spinning about and repeatedly rising to raise or lower the blinds for some two hours beforehand. The final pause before the ferry boarding could have finally allowed them some respite before nearly a week of struggling against sea-sickness, yet even now they seemed to be unable to do anything but trade inconsequential remarks concerning the weather. How else could it be? The topic of their preliminary plans was already spent, and it was as yet too early to begin actually pondering their execution.

All of a sudden, a rap against the glass by his head startled Johannes from the slumber he had been, in spite of all, drifting into. Not a little irritated, he lowered it and turned to face the whiskered countenance of the customs officer peering from beyond it.
[color=8B4513]“What is it, my good man?”[/color] he asked, not immediately realising that his impromptu usage of a rather colloquial expression had yielded a potentially offensive result. Not that it would have concerned him, but it was somewhat embarrassing for being unintended.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man began quite civilly, probably not being altogether inexperienced in interacting with foreigners, “Your vehicle looks like it might be exceeding the weight limit.” Was its crammed state quite so visible? Most likely. Meanwhile, the boarding queue was beginning to move forth - and they were being detained by this overly zealous, or thus it seemed to him, fellow.
[color=8B4513]“I assure you that we have passed all necessary controls. Here, we have these tickets they give there. [i]Turan, do you[/i]...”[/color]
But Turan had drifted away into a tranquil slumber. Curse him, could he think of no better moment? Johannes began hastily rooting through the sheaf of various printed pages - mostly maps - in his lap. Where could he have buried them? Before them, the path onto the vessel was now empty. Ah, that was quite enough. No more of this nonsense. 

“Sir, do you have the...”
Johannes abruptly turned toward the mustachioed intruder and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, which made him stagger back in surprise, theatrically raised his right hand, with the palm stretched outwards. This gesture was functionally unnecessary, but what was life without a little flavour? He focused his mental energies upon the figure before him and, almost envisioning the outline of its psychic nucleus, hurled at it a brief sequence of visions - nothing especially astounding, but enough to serve their purpose.

[hider=The Projection]
[img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cRG1nXqGlcQ/Vkvq0pdC81I/AAAAAAAALbw/AFsNdvy4J3w/s400/DW003.jpg[/img]
[img]http://www.filmbrutti.com/images/imdirect.php?load=959[/img]
[img]https://static.vidivodo.com/vidivodo/vidservers/server185/videos/v200612271622000002499.flv.jpg[/img]
[/hider]

The man staggered, flailing his arms as though he had suddenly lost his sight and were attempting to clutch it before it flew away. Failing to grasp any solid object, he nearly collapsed, but was able to moderate his fall by crouching with what seemed to be a supreme effort. After about a minute, the expression of his eyes grew slightly less wild, and he saw that the potentially overloaded automobile had already vanished beyond the ascension ramp. Rising totteringly to his full height, he waved reassuringly at the other drivers, who were looking at him with some concern, and moved toward his position with quivering steps.

Aboard the ship, Johannes smiled to himself with a hint of triumph. Petty, admittedly, but was life not likewise composed of simple pleasures? His mouth still set in its twisted shape, he let his thoughts hasten forwards. Soon, he would have crossed the ocean, and then the true merriment would begin. A world of adventure lay ahead.


[b]Present Time[/b]

Despite their resolution to set off as early as possible, which in itself was a definition vague enough to warrant a reasonable degree of abuse, it was almost noon when the trio finally drove out of Brooklyn. It was not that they had been detained by the city’s graces, as they had devoted the entire previous day to the exploration of the latter - or at least as large a section of them as could be covered within such a period - and decided they had had quite enough of them. Rather, it was a combination of their own natural disinclination to rise early, compounded by habit, and the issue of the time zone shift they had experienced, which, though gradual enough not to significantly disrupt their self-sustenance routine, was proving a slight nuisance. The sum of these afflictions caused Johannes to perceive himself as, yet again, fairly tired, despite having been on his feet for a mere hour; this last concessive factor was, for him, a source of vague background irritation, which he strove to quell as he squinted in a vain attempt not to be blinded by the radiance he would probably have to face for the best part of the journey.

Thus far, the New World had not yielded all the excitement it had seemed to promise. True, the city they had just departed from was far larger than anything they had ever hitherto encountered, even more than their hazy conceptions of it, based as they were largely upon the rare “conventional” motion picture, had led them to believe, and with internal variety to match; however, it was not all they had hoped it would be. It ought to have been the threshold of the prodigious new reality rendered accessible to them by Johannes’s unexpected, to say the least, “empowering” experience, yet it was nothing more than a city. An impressive specimen of the sort, certainly, but a mere city nonetheless, not quite, all things considered, so different from Berlin - a city where people struggled and rested, worked and loitered, slept and walked, loved and loathed, lived their more or less ordinary lives and (usually) died. In short, nothing interesting. If there was something markedly unusual afoot somewhere, they had neither seen nor heard of it. Then again, this was, after all, merely the beginning, and a beginning was not necessarily a sample of what the future held. A beginning could very well be ordinary and unassuming, and what would come would seem all the more striking after it.

Presently, the landscape seemed to be inclined to encourage the latter possibility. After nearly two hours of monotonous highway-side sights, a poorly maintained sign designating "New Sardis" had directed Johannes into a minor road, seemingly distinct from the main inlets into Rhode Island - presumably, a sort of sanctioned shortcut. The latter’s surroundings, having retained the previous uniformity for some miles, gradually developed into a region of gently sloping hills, whose grassy sides began, after a while, to bristle with increasingly dark thickets. Soon the road became similar to a lost path running amidst wooded eminences, beset by green tides and obtrusive bushes and flanked by the occasional stream. Johannes was mystified. He did not recall seeing such a verdant patch upon any map, no more than he had, up to that point, been aware of a deviation toward New Sardis specifically – which was strange in itself, as the city was by no means close to the highway he had just left. Judging by their subduedly surprised comments, his companions were no less puzzled than him. He began to experience some hints of apprehension. There was something subtly wrong, for want of a better word, with this place. The patches of darkness beneath the distant trees began to seem to him unaccountably large and deep, and the hills gave the imression of being about to quietly slither forth and bar their way, leaving them trapped in some encroaching demi-monde of creeping fright.

Just then, Nejat exclaimed from behind him, pointing at a rivulet which had grown to a respectable size as they progressed along its course: “[i]Look there! How did that thing even get in? It’s got to be as broad as the steam itself![/i]” [color=8B4513]“[i]What’s that?[/i]”[/color] Johannes inquired, without averting his gaze from the road ahead. “[i]There was one big beast – fish or something. There’s it again! Ey, looks like it’s following us.[/i]” Johannes cast a swift glance in the direction Nejat was indicating and saw that, beneath the running water’s surface, there appeared for an instant a shadow whose size he could, in that moment, only think of as monstrous. It was truly a wonder how the creature, if indeed it was not a log or other piece of woodland debris, not only contrived not to empty the stream merely by being contained in it, but was even able to remain submerged as it moved. This was anything but reassuring, and he frowned as he accelerated slightly, eager to be parted with this region as soon as he could.

Finally, the hills came to an end, and all those aboard the automobile breathed more or less audible sighs of relief. It was, however, not long before the landscape treated them to yet another unleasant surprise. While at one side of the road there stretched the customary fields, at the other there lay a sight of ghastly desolation. For as far as they could see the soil was arid and barren, of a hideous grayish-yellow hue. A light breeze raised small motes of dust from the blasted surface, and bore them swirling among the irregular mounds and discolored rocks, small fissures and the few, sparsely placed skeletal shrubs. It conveyed an impression of brooding hostility, as though the land were inhabited by a malevolent genius whose slumber threatened to be disrupted at any moment. Soon there arose upon the horizon in that direction a grim black structure, too distant to be properly discerned but visibly vast in size and menacing in appearance. Despite resembling an industrial construction of sorts, not a plume of smoke was to be seen above its sable ramparts. After a bend in the road, it vanished from sight, and they finally came in sight of their journey’s final objective.

At first, the city was but an indistinct gray stain upon their sight. As they approached, however, it progressively acquired distinct contours, coming to resemble a somewhat oddly-shaped crown. Over a mass of low, staid buildings there jutted a number of anachronistically shimmering spires, among whom, even surpassing the least ambitious of them in size, throned a pointed tower of stone, resembling the calcified tusk of some primeval leviathan. Over the scene there hung an indecisive ashen sky, upon whose canvas one could discern neither cloud nor sun. The sight was somewhat unwelcoming and eerie, not altogether unlike the hills, and Johannes once again began to feel subtly disquieted. This time, however, the sensation was but transitory, and entirely faded as they drove into the suburbs and began making their way through a diminutive maze of winding, occasionally shoddily paved streets.

This last phase of the voyage was, it was unanimously agreed, much too lengthy for everyone’s taste, but eventually the ingress to the street they were seeking, despite being concealed by some misplaced refuse bins, was discovered, and the crew pulled to a halt before the squat, rather ungainly contraption they would presently have to call home. As they were clambering out of the vehicle stretching their limbs to dissipate the stasis-induced numbness, the front door opened, and a portly, shabbily dressed man with receding hair and a ruddy countenance came forth to meet them. “Hullo, hullo” he greeted, in a tone perhaps too eager to be truly welcoming, “I take it you’re Mr. Shmit? I’m Harries, much pleased to meet you. You’ll be wanting the keys…” [color=8B4513]“Yes, of course. Might we have a look around first?”[/color] Johannes interrupted, perhaps somewhat curtly. Harries rapidly nodded and led his visitors through a sequence of dim, dusty and in places somewhat damp rooms, a few of them furnished with slightly decrepit wooden (or simil-wooden, it was quite difficult to discern) articles, all the while extolling the habitation’s not always immediate virtues. After some confabulation with Turan and Nejat, Johannes reassured him of their willingness to conclude the transaction, and, after some arrangements and a set of keys had been traded, the portly man hurried away with a distinctly relieved expression, which was, however, not heeded.

Johannes cast what he intended to be an appreciative glance about himself, moved a few steps back and forth and, turning to the nearest window, spoke words which, though known to all those present, struck him as appropriate in that circumstance. [color=8B4513]“[i]Now, we wait.[/i]”[/color]