When reporters started swarming the scene Waylon felt, oddly enough, a brief sense of normality. If there was one thing he'd gotten used to since getting famous, it was the press. His mind raced as he tried to put together some form of comment for all of this, for the disaster and the blood that was literally on his hands right now, but the here was the first reporter and she... Walked right past him. Huh. The attention focused around the young woman who'd gone on stage to try to warn them all, and the others who were with her.

That was unexpected. He certainly didn't mind, not when he could barely put together a coherent thought as it was, but it felt odd not being the center of attention for once. He wondered if-

[color=silver]"Waylon... I-"[/color] And like that, Petra crumpled to her knees, one arm grabbing at his sleeve in a failed attempt to catch herself while the other clutched desperately at her chest. Waylon got down next to her, and realized that she was hyperventilating. 

[color=crimson]"What's wrong? What's happening?"[/color] He frantically questioned.

[color=silver]"I-I-I feel like-"[/color] She managed, but she was unable to complete the sentence. Honestly, the only thing she could compare it to was the feeling of having done a line of coke. Except, in this case, it was more like fifty. Her heart pounded in her chest, faster than ever before. Was this what dying felt like?

[color=crimson]"Paramedic! We need a paramedic over here!"[/color] Waylon shouted even as several swarmed his sister's now prone position. Her body started to tremble, and he lunged for her instinctively, only to be held back. He'd never felt so helpless. What was going on? If that girl was right, there were some... Scientists, who were responsible for all of this? Whoever it was, [i]someone[/i] had to pay for the hell that had broken loose around them.