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[right][code]September 7th
Warehouse
Interactions: Vicky (Mentioned), Ella (Mentioned)[/code][/right][hr]

Carnage. Blood, everywhere. Screams. Kersten sat there, watching with wide, uncomprehending eyes. It was like his mind refused to function in sheer terror, a strange, dense haze impeding conscious thought much more efficiently than drugs ever did. He very well might’ve stayed there, unmoving, until his life was snatched away from him as well, had someone not called his name out.

She turned her head. She felt like she was underwater. Chef was there, pulling Vicky to her feet, calling out for her to help. She looked around some more. All of the other people that used to populate the Stoner Corner alongside her had disappeared. Probably trampling over each other, rushing to the exit. Kersten hadn’t noticed them leaving. They’d broken her bong. She liked that bong. A shame…

And then suddenly they were wet. Something warm, and slightly viscous, and that smelled like pennies was drenching their shirt, covering their face. They had stood up by then, though they had no memory of doing so. There was more screaming, much closer than before. Chef wasn’t there anymore. Chef was being spilled everywhere. [i]Chef[/i] was what was covering them and staining their clothes.

Vicky was screaming. Kersten was screaming too.

Reality slammed back into her senses all at once, the fog fully gone and survival instincts taking over. Vicky stopped screaming (or did she only stop making noise?) and was dragged away faster than Kersten could try and catch her. Her heart sank into her stomach.

[color=greenyellow]”VICKY!”[/color] They shouted after her, one arm stretched out futilely. They tried to ignore the sudden nausea at the thought that her lacking reaction time might have cost Vicky her life. They failed.

A clinking sound, like glass toppling over without shattering. The noise was small and soft, almost melodic, and yet, to Kersten’s ears, it pierced through the surrounding cacophony like a gunshot.

He looked over, and caught a flash of yellow. The object was laying in a pool of fresh blood, and yet, it was strangely… clean. Not a scratch marred its surface, and no stain nor dust seemed to stick, not even the surrounding blood. It almost seemed to gleam in the darkness, as if lit by a dim inner light.

[hr]

When fabrics get torn, other weaknesses tend to appear in the weave. Some are rather dire and require immediate attention; edges fraying and eating at the fabric, fibres breaking under stress and creating holes, the old tear itself widening even further…

Others are small, and inconsequential. Disturbed and loosened fibres will move around, or be moved, and then eventually find their way back to their proper place, leaving the weave unharmed. But in the tiny moment when their order was disturbed, a gap, a very small gap, forms. And in that tiny moment, through that tiny gap, things can…. slip in.

When the fabric of reality was torn through, its weave was disturbed, and many of these pinprick gaps appeared, if only for a fraction of a fraction of a second. All closed right back up, before anything could coincidentally make its way through. All but one.

Whether through fate, divine intervention, or simple luck, one gap let through something. An item, born of pure potential, belief yearning to take physical shape. It fell through, unseen light shining from its glass body, into a dark warehouse slowly but surely filling with death.

[hr]

Kersten looked at the glass object. Its shape was strange, like it wasn’t really a shape at all. They couldn’t seem to actually tell [i]what[/i] it was, only that it [i]was[/i]. They chalked it out to the poor lighting.

The floor was rumbling. It had been since the panic started, but now it was doing so more strongly. Like how it did when Chef got bisected, and Vicky was taken. Whatever caused this was approaching.

She took the glass without thinking much. If anything, she could throw it, use it as a weapon, whatever little good that would do.

The awakening wasn’t brutal, or spectacular. Kersten almost didn’t notice it. It was a tiny itch in his head… no, in his brain—no, not that either, in his [i]mind[/i]—as his new sense bloomed. It felt natural, like moving a limb, except in this case you had simply never needed to move it before, so it felt the tiniest bit odd, but not that much. He blinked, and the shapeless piece of glass was no longer shapeless.

It was an ear of corn, with a face, and arms, and legs, and it was made of glass, and in any other situation Kersten might’ve cooed over how tacky of a bong this was, except in any other situation people, their [i]friends[/i], weren’t currently being killed by the droves by some kind of invisible monster that was now perhaps, very possibly, gunning for them next.

Except now the monster wasn’t invisible anymore. Whatever the (magic?) bong did to awaken her new, as-of-yet-unknown sense also seemed to have let her see the monster. And as the towering bloodstained mountain of fur and fangs and claws and muscle stalked towards her location, head lowered and teeth bared, she did the first thing that came to mind.

Kersten clobbered the monster over the head with the (definitively, absolutely magic) bong as hard as he could, and then booked it towards where Ella was waving people through a broken window, clutching the miraculously unbroken bong the entire while.