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Borr wouldn't let the news stay on. It was depressing and repetitive and nothing much had changed. It wasn't until they noticed that the fog was thinning, that he flipped the channel back to the local news. A ticker read along the bottom of the screen overtop of regularly scheduled programming until something at all had changed.

WIl had been in and out all day, every hour almost, to puff on something. Sometimes he'd take the dogs with him at Borr's instruction, but smoking was something to do besides nap and tell free fortunes. Free being the worst part.

"Hey guys..." He was headed out again, hand on the knob, "What's that?"

The glyph was visible from the inside too and Wil, already headed out, decided to continue his trip. Out to the front of the building he looked at it from the outside, a hand coming up to scratch his bouncing blonde curls. "Weird."

Something rustled against his shoe and Wil leaned to snatch up a sheet of paper and look at it.

The paper Wil looks at bears two words, handwritten with a brush of some kind:

IT WALKS.

As he reads it, there is a brief feeling of a hand cupping the back of his neck.

The paint is wet from the fog, but it's also gummy to the touch. It's been there for a good while. Nasir's hand comes away in the same raspberry red as the paint; the color is brilliant, almost gemstone in its quality. This is the kind of expensive paint artists would kill for, and one that Wil might recognize as quinacridone red.

Melina was not having the best of days. You could only eat cinnamon rolls for so long until their sticky-sweetness became heavy and thick in the pit of your stomach and, as much as she enjoyed Wil and her co-workers, they weren't her best friends. They weren't her parents, whom she was worried sick about, and they sure as s**t weren't as nice as her bed.

Deciding that enough was enough, that the fog was thin enough for her to try and go home, Lina stepped outside and heard the crunch of paper under her shoes. It wasn't the crinkly-dry like you would expect from crunching leaves; this was fresh. She bent to pick one up and immediately dropped it again when she saw the words.

Blood flowed out of her face and she immediately turned to scramble back into the bar like something was chasing her. "I don't know what the ******** is going on but I want to wake up now!!"

While Wil was passing his joint to Nasir outside, Borr's attention had been drawn by Meli inside.

The large man stepped forward, hearing her commotion and holding out his hands, "Whoah whoah-"

His hands settled on her shoulders, "What's wrong?" His eyes drifted out the window and caught sight of the symbol. "What's going on??"

Some of the immediate panic slipped from Lina's face when Borr's hands came to rest against her shoulders, strong and solid, but the fear remained. "There's like...hundreds of pieces of paper out there with this creepy writing. IT WALKS." she intoned, doom in her voice. Being a drama queen was something you could generally count on the brunette for but this wasn't overreacting, in her opinion. This was 100% justified.

Hearing the words about the bucket she turned to look where the other two men were, eyes wide. "This is so bogus. So hugely, ridiculously, bogus." A short, quiet spate of Cantonese followed and, while most didn't understand the words themselves, the tone was very clear as to what Lina was doing: she was praying.

Nasir was standing outside still with Wil, taking a hit from the joint and passing it back to him a moment later. His hand was still sticky with the paint, rubbing it off onto the flyer and then letting it fall to the ground.

"Any ideas on how to clean that off?" he asked Wil, leaning against the other a moment. "Dhan's probably already trying to get something together to clean it." Never mind Borr would probably like it gone. Anything that was going to spook MORE was not necessary.

He could hear the snatches of conversation from inside but ... Well. Nasir was wiggling fingers for another hit.

Wendy had work always, fog or not, the radio was always on and especially times like these people tuned in more than ever. After her early morning shift she'd texted her brother to find he was at Darlene's.

Cid got the next text in which she told him she was coming by to meet him, and not to touch the goddamn papers (they'd been blasting it all over the radio), and they were going to Darlene's.

She found the man hanging a sign on his shop door:



"You didn't pick up the damn papers did you?" The dark haired woman eyes him over her glasses as she lined up her phone to snap a picture of the sign for instagram, while holding out a drink carrier to him with Starbucks for the both of them. Starbucks was ALWAYS open.

"Hmm.. #fogpocalypse2016," she had a tendency to murmur her hashtags aloud as she thought of them, "#thehypseisreal #4thwallcomics #wwmiradio. BLOOP. Send."

"Tom is at Darlene's. Lemme text him."