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Alyssa woke, her eyes since closed and her mind rested, by swiping the air in front of her with her knife. Upon not hitting anything in the air before her, she opened her eyes and surveyed the room.

The glass was full (ice melted) and nobody was around.

She drank from it and downed it all in one tip bck. Her faculties were somewhat restored, and her body ached. She went over the events of the night before and allowed the memories to flow.

She had no watch, nor any timepiece, she hadn't had the need for time since she decided human contact was best left to the fringes of her life. As a reult she couldn't determine the time, only that it was toward the morning side of night.

She set the glass down on the box again. Her actions here were limited, if his yard was a minefield then his house was a booby trap. Plus the alakazam, "Zoidberg" (the reference, of course, lost on her). There were probably more. Having her faculties back (somewhat, she was still weakened physically, but her mind was chugging along) she analysed what she couldn't before.

Paul struck her as a paranoid, but not one so much as to be considered psychotic, as he spoke of interactions with the community of "Riverdale" and something else called "Minutemen". His paranoia struck her from his minefield (she did not have the knowledge of the anittank gun). He also appeared to have a military background, or something, which would account for the weapon, something she had only seen on military personnell, and the knowledge to lay mines to begin with, and even moreso to hide them well enough that the only reason she knew they were there was from instinct and observation, the ground was lumpy and irregular.

How she managed, however, to make any progress through them, and why she attempted, was left solely to her subconcious. In her present state she would've tried the road, or, in hopes of meeting a neutral, stood at the edge of the yard and yelled for an escort.

Regardless, she was here now at Paul and Zoidberg's mercy, which meant staying put until one came to retrieve her. She hoped it'd be Paul, psychic pokemon were still not her thing. She reflected on the wisdom of leaving her belongings in a clearing not far from his house. She could use something to read, but she didn't want him to be tempted to take what she wasn't willing to give.

The younger man smirked and nodded in response to the first question. Schraeder wasn't exactly a professional when it came to knot tying, but he knew that their safety likely depended on how well the man out front was tied up, so he had taken extra care to make sure that his knots wouldn't be coming undone accidentally. It would take some time (and perhaps a knife, if the doctor didn't care much about the extension cords) to get him untied.

So the letter had been some kind of prophecy, had it? This was interesting. Schraeder ran over the things he had heard about Dr. Shovensky in his mind; the man lived alone other than his Pokemon, was retired, and had worked on some projects in prior years, the details of which were curiously unknown. All in all, Schraeder had formed the impression that Dr. Shovensky was not superstitious, would be difficult to convince of something drastic, and, given the current situation, was someone that Schraeder could count on to make the correct decision.

Still, he was not completely naive. "Stetson Schraeder. A pleasure to meet you, sir, especially given the way that we met." After they shook hands, though, Schraeder's eyebrow assumed its raised position and it was pretty clear that he wasn't moving before he got answers. "I'm to come with you? I have no problem doing so, doctor, but first I'd like to know what is going on here. The city comes under attack, fine - that happens sometimes. A man with a gun chased me, fine - that happens when the city comes under attack. However, the man didn't use the gun when he had the opportunity, and seemed intent on catching me alive. Further, you receive a letter - from a woman that is dead and yet knows what's going on here - and this letter gives you cause to take me with you and head...well, just out?"

As he spoke, Schraeder began to follow Djinn's lead and grab essentials from around the kitchen and placing them into Junior's bag. "So what I need to know from you, Doctor," he said as he continued packing, "is why I should drop everything and come with you. Maybe you can't reveal the contents of the letter, and if that's the case then fine. But I do need some kind of reason to come with. Can you give me some proof that I should trust this letter that you received? More people are vying for me tonight than usual, and I'm curious as to why."

Aaron Cummings, Outskirts of Cliffshire

Aaron nearly flipped a sh!t when the voice began speaking. He had not even heard the person come up and the tracks were fairly open territory, the metal and pebbles difficult to hide one's approach especially one with such acute hearing. Before Aaron could even respond to he voice, it had disappeared as abruptly as it had began.

"W-wait. Who are you?" he stammered out before he could collect himself.

You will find someone I believe can help you... As if I've ever needed anyone. I can take care of myself. His mind raced as he replayed the words of the phantom--it must of been a phantom, there is no other explanation; I am not crazy--over in his head. Who was this 'Dr. Shonevsky' and how did they play a role in this? Blindness is not permanent... Blindness is not permanent... He dared not begin to hope that the implications behind that statement existed. The memories of sight were too much to bear in his current state. His mind immediately went numb as the image of his sister's arm popped crystal clear into his mind. No, it was better not to think of miracles and dreams. They all went up in smoke in the end..

To his general surprise, Aaron had reached the site of all of the strange noises; the tracks led straight into a set of wooden doors. He discovered this by the sound they had made when his walking stick had tapped into them. Strange that this line isn't active, yet, someone is obviously working here.

He tentatively rapped the doors and called out, "Hello?!" As an afterthought he decided to add, "Is there someone by the name of Madelyn here?"

This is so stupid, there is no way that the voice I heard could have been real.. Or accurate for that matter, I must be going insane. I should just move on towards the city. I have to be getting close if the tracks stopped.

Though he had decided to leave, he did not. There was a small part of him, a tiny glimmer, that wanted to believe that there was hope to be found in this strange noisy shed. His heart decided that he stay, if only to prove that such delusions should be ignored in the future. This world held no handouts for someone like him.

Ulysses took a sigh of relief and nodded firmly before hoisting the second backpack onto his shoulders. It was easily thirty pounds, but the aging man didn't seem bothered by it- for now. He knew chances were his knee would start giving him trouble less than half a mile from home.

"Gloria, keep Junior. Djinn, I need you to stick by Schraeder." His eyes settled on the younger man. "I would give you a weapon, but my pistol is warped, and the only other is this," he hefted the shotgun into his arms; a Mossburg 500 with a black finish faded with age and use. "Sorry." Then, after pause, "Do you have any pokémon of your own?" It seemed strange a boy of such youth without one, so ubiquitous they were even after the Fall.

(I sure do hope it's dawn by now...)

Dirk awoke with a start, to the sun shining in his face, as he slumped in his chair. Grumbling to himself, he arose, picked up his cane from beside the chair, and hobbled into the kitchen where he busied himself making a quick breakfast for himself and the 'pokes. Can 'a pork and beans for Trouble, a small salad for Deadeye, and some fish food for Houdini. He'd have to find some real food for the omanyte soon, but goddamn, seafood was pretty damn hard to get these days, especially in this town. As he distributed the food to his pokemon, Tavish noticed something in front of his door...a sealed envelope. The hell is this? Mail? Been a damn long while since I received mail.... Tavish picked up the envelope, and brought it into the kitchen to read as he took his own breakfast, more whiskey, chased with a fried egg on toast. He cut the envelope open with a knife he took from his jacket, and proceeded to read it.

Tavish finished the letter, and resealed it in the envelope, placing it on the table as he hobbled to the front door. He scribbled a note to the effect of stating his repair shop would not be open today; a shame, considering business would likely be very good, but there were more important things to worry about. "Oi, Deadeye!" called Tavish. The wartortle ambled over sluggishly; he hadn't gotten his morning sun yet. "Deadeye, gather everyone together, an git ready tae leave. Ah need yae to dae some packin' for mae-food, an essentials. Wae're goin' on a trip...mahght bae a long one. Maybe the last. Sae get enough tae last us a guid while...a week, at least. ah'll take care a armaments, an tools, sae don't worry aboot that. Ah need yae an the others ready in aboot an hour...we don't have time tah waste." The wartortle nodded in response, and ambled off, the fastest he could manage.

Tavish, meanwhile, went into his workroom, the tables still crammed full of junk he'd been working on previously. He swept all of the items off one of the tables, into a nearby box, leaving a single wrench on the table, which seemed to be attached to the table itself. Tavish turned the wrench 180 degrees clockwise, and a mechanism in the table clicked, sending off a wireless signal that opened the secret compartment in the wall of the room, about the size of a safe. Inside, was a coat, similar to the duster Tavish usually wore, but armored with metal plating on the outside, around the shoulders and forearms. The inside was reinforced with a layer of kevlar wherever it would fit, and had two weapon holsters on the inside, made for large pistols or revolvers. Tavish lifted the coat out of the compartment, the coat clinking as he did so, the pockets stuffed with various rounds of ammunition. There was a bulletproof vest in here too, as well as pants, boots, and a cowboy hat, all reinforced and armored in similar manner as the coat. Tavish changed into these with some hesitation...he'd hoped he'd never see the occasion he had to don these again. Too bad he'd gotten rid of the guns though...he'd have to get more. The knives were still here though...and the armaments for the 'pokes too. That at least was good...they were a damn sight better than him in a fight anyhow, these days. The knife was a large one, made for combat, the edge still as wickedly sharp as the day it went in here. The pokemon armaments were still good too, it looked like...scoped goggles and a few blowpipe looking instruments for Deadeye, and the saddle and collar for Trouble. Good. Tavish took everything out of the compartment, stowed the knife in a sheath on his left leg, and hefted the pokemon's stuff with one hand, carrying it slung across his back. He took his repair manual and tools on the way out of the room, stuffing them into the free pockets of his coat.

He passed Deadeye in the kitchen on the way to the living room, dropping off Deadeye's belongings on the way. As he did so, Deadeye affixed Tavish with a piercing stare, a look of resignation and resolution. "Sorry, mate. Ah hoped wae'd never need this junk again either..." Tavish grabbed the letter off the table, stowing it in another pocket of his coat, as he headed to the living room. He grabbed the shotgun and magnum where he'd dropped them last night, and stowing the magnum in it's holster, proceeded to cut most of the barrel off the shotgun, using a power saw he'd taken from the workshop. This took a few minutes, after which the shotgun was the size of a large pistol. Tavish stowed this in his coat, in one of the inside holsters. Finished. He grabbed the balls for the pokemon from the bedroom, and grabbed Houdini, finding the omanyte skulking in the bathroom sink, having once again escaped his aquarium. Tavish stowed the omanyte in his pokeball. There wouldn't likely be places for Houdini to soak in on the way. Going downstairs, he ran into Deadeye, the wartortle out in the backyard, standing by Trouble, with a fully packed outdoorsman's backpack by his side. Tavish nodded to the wartortle, and moving over to Trouble, attached the collar and saddle apparatus to the arcanine's back. Trouble grumbled at this irritation with a few quiet growls, but was silenced by the look on Tavish's face. Tavish attached the backpack to the saddle, like a pannier, and got on the arcanine's back, as Deadeye also climbed on. "Le's go, Trouble. Tae da gun store first, then ah'll direct yae from there. Deadeye...keep an eye oot fer anything suspicious...Ah think wae'll be seeing more a those from last night pretty soon." Trouble took off at a full tilt dash-stop and go being the only speeds the arcanine had, towards the gun store, already milling with what was likely going to be a raid squad, arming themselves for their inevitable assault.

Paul was annoyed at the hour he had been woken up at, but he was nothing if not capable of hardship, so he grumbled for all of five minutes while he got dressed and thudded down the stairs. Interestingly, he was now wearing digital camo fatigues in a woodlands pattern, and wearing a similarly patterned vest, very much different than the black upon black he'd been wearing yesterday. Even the baseball cap had been exchanged for a greener one.

When he arrived downstairs, he decided to peek into the front room, where he noticied Alyssa had beaten him to the whole waking up thing. "G'mornin'," he greeted her. "Zoidberg and I are gonna throw together something for breakfast, anything specific you want? I'm thinking sausage, eggs, and hashbrowns. Oh, uh, got a phone call. I'm supposed to escort you to Glenville, 'sbout a hundred miles north. Any idea why that might be?" he asked. He doubted it, and he wasn't sure how she would take the news. Vital to the survival of the human race was a pretty... far-out-there claim, and it was a long trip, so if Paul could think of an excuse not to, he probably wouldn't. Then again it would only be two or three hours if he took the Hilux.

That truck was his favorite thing amongst all his weapons and equipment. Most of the vehicles that had rolled through here had been damaged beyond repair that Paul was capable of, but the Hilux had been parked outside of the battlefield by a small group of militants, and Paul had managed to recover it. He never did anything with it, because gas was hard to come by and a truck like that would suck it up, but if he was traveling for three hours and a hundred or so miles he didn't want to do it on a motorcycle or a dirt bike.

Ideally, though they wouldn't go either way. It all depended on Alyssa.

Jason didn't appreciate waking up to find someone hanging over him, and it was made all the worse by the guy telling him what to do and then vanishing into a tree. "Please tell me I just imagined that," he groaned, his head thudding back into the trunk of the tree. When he saw that Joy was staring at the spot Dr. Terrian vanished into the tree he was forced to accept that he hadn't imagined it. He got to his feet and went to the only person he could see to ask directions to Dr. Shonevsky's place, and started to walk there, Joy in her pokeball and Mist floating beside him. He took an apple out of his pack and bit into, trying to figure out why it was so important that he meet with the doctor and help him take two kids to Glenville.