[center][h2][color=A52A2A]Vincent Cawler[/color][/h2]
[b][i]Now o'clock[/i][/b][/center]

More people started showing up on the dock, a few too many for Vincent's liking. If the group got too big then it'd become more eye-catching, and he came here to lie low. Or that's what he told himself, at least. Some instinct tugged at the back of his mind, something that pushed him to follow the formed cracks this way. Was it curiosity? It might've been a concussion. Or he could be going crazy. Though that whole idea fell flat once all the kids around Vincent started talking about the same cracks. Vincent didn't join in the conversation, but he did listen. Seemed like a lot of them were having a rough a day as he was... well, as rough as could be when you're not in [i]his[/i] line of work.

Vincent kept his head back, staring up at the gazebo's roof. One of the mysterious cracks started to snake its way up a support beam, stretching to a stop right over him. He watched it, entranced, even as the ground began to shake. So while the rest of them got to their feet and tried to deal with the situation, when Vincent fell, he did it face-up.
[hr]
It wasn't a graceful landing.

Vincent hit hard, cracking his head against the pavement, his elbows, and his ass - you'd be surprised how much it hurt there. He let out a sharp yell, leaning up and cradling the back of his head in his hands. Looking around at the warped landscape and the ominous prison-like building they ended up, Vincent almost though that he was hallucinating it all, that the shock to the head so many times knocked something loose. But, again, the others reacting the same way proved him wrong.

"Ghnnhn," Vincent groaned, his voice, now being properly used, being very deep for a man so stretched out. "What the fuck... happened?"