Just as Rockin' was about to leave the room, he heard something loud. Not knowing what it was, he spun around to see someone beginning to panic and aiming something at Shannon. He galloped as fast as he could, moving to tackle the human. He didn't know if anyone was hurt by whatever they had and needed medical attention, he didn't know. He had no idea what these things were they held or what they did, though he knew he could figure it out if given a chance to study one. He looked at the female(?) soldier and tried using his gives to hold her arms down, already angry and with a small headache from the expense of music without casting a spell. Looking at Shannon and Vaughter, he tried to see if they were both alright. I wish Atlantis was here. he frowned, knowing he wouldn't be able to hold the human down forever... or for very long... or for any amount of time.

Robbed of much of his independence by fear and strange circumstance, Herbert followed Dzel, surrendering his fate to her completely. She was safety; she had experience and understanding. And guns.

One hand felt heavy. He looked down at it, at the revolver he held. Eyes narrowed. When had that got there? It was sleek yet familiar, unlike many of those other modern weapons that Dzel carried. Herbert had a few of those slung over his shoulders, but he did not trust them; their weight did not reassure him, did not put power back in his hands.

He knew something was wrong; he could feel the hairline fractures in his psyche spreading like a spider’s silk, but he also knew he could do nothing to stop it. He was trapped in this place, his mind breaking under the stress. He could feel his thoughts scatter as he tried to form them, his ego all but dissolved now. Such a frail mind.

The floor passed quickly beneath his feet. It seemed to fall in and out of focus, almost as though it was shifting, but Herbert knew that could not be the case.

As the sounds of conflict crept closer, Dzel spoke. That voice... It… no, it was Dzel’s, merely a difference in her inflection. Yes, that was it. He barely knew her; he hadn’t even noticed the true shade of her eyes, or the streaks of red in her hair. Her words reassured. She was safety. She was safety. She was…

The burst of gunfire echoed thunder inside Herbert’s skull. Red. He brought his hands up to his ears and the reverberations faded. The gun was cool on his ear lobe.

Tristan. Why? They had found him, but, why this? Was he dead? No, no. Maybe. Dying? Who knew; the rules of this place were beyond the strange.

He watched another gun raise. Perhaps a moment or two passed before he realised it was held by his own hand.

“What is going on?” Somebody that might have been him asked. Desperation and dread coiled around his insides, yet none of this made its way to his face. Completely emotionless, Herbert had spoken in monotone and was now looking at the others with a blank expression, down the barrel of a gun.

Hirshe began to shake and steam. The steam would suddenly burn, hot, and singe the flesh of anyone who touched it... Perhaps a thick skinned gargoyle or a felt skinned monster would not feel the effects so much... The woman holding the shield on the glass, however, was neither and she screamed as a stream of red steam struck her ankles.

Then the steam became cold, fogging the windows that showed the sea. Hirshe shook, vibrating violently, then... He became still. The glow faded.

His head rolled to one side, his breath stopped... For a moment...

Then it turned, and a voice his friends would recognize he said... "huh?"

The glass cracked, the girl holding the shield passed out, water began to seep through the seams.

Meanwhile above, Tristian, stared, wide eyed.

"My friend... My dear friend... I didn't know... If I had..."

"Lies do not suit you, Tristian. Even when you believe them." Dzel spoke, but in a voice that was not her own. It was deeper, masculine, like smoke. Her face changed, she grew taller. Her black hair shortened, and seemed to rust, turning orange, her skin paled and freckled...

Her face changed into a face that all the other-worlders would recognize, or perhaps not recognize, but find familiar. Either in a distant memory, something from a half remembered nightmare...

Herbert would recognize the face, and remember the name.

Smith.

Tristian fell to his knees, his blood, his life water, falling out of him. The ship he commanded with his power, began to tilt and sink. "I wish I could go back and... I would have..."

"You were there, Tristian. You did nothing, Trisitan. Peace keeper... Coward. I am going to kill all the rest, and then I am going home. Damn the cost."

When Tristian died, the animals went wild with rage and sorrow. The whales and fish and creatures that followed the fleet of vessels struck the side of the submarines, cried into the sea, turned upon one another and the humans that traveled with Tristian.

"Time to go." Said Smith, and grabbed Herberts hand.

But someone else grabbed Herberts other hand, The other Dzel perhaps. It would all become chaotic as the submarine began to fill with water.

Rozalind shot at Smith. "This way!" she missed, her bullets made more holes in the walls, more holes for water to come into the hall.

Then Dzel touched the side of the giant Wolf Wolfe, there was no more time to be afraid. "Come with us." The beast who had found control, could also now find some more of himself, some peace...

How did they get away from Smith? Did he escape the sinking ship? As the team desperately escaped into pods and lifeboats Smith never seemed to hurry or worry, he just stood and watched them flee, the water rising around his knees.

Injured, confused, the survivors of TRIDENT were few. The other-worlders gathered on the surface, on a strange beach... baffled... puzzled... Nightmares and puzzles would haunt them... Mysteries that begged to be answered.

The mystery of the RIFT needed to be solved...

... To be continued.