Alto announces his arrival to the group, a short half minute of silence interrupted by his statement alongside the sliver of steel. “One room. Number three.”

“Thanks, Alto.” Madeline smiles from her slouching position. “So, who’s gonna turn in first?”

There are no volunteers to the statement, only long gazes at one another. Five souls at the brink of escalation, a gunfight at the very edge of one domino, one declaratory act. No one party with the advantage, all vulnerable to one another.

A full two minutes of silence, hesitation apparent in their forms.

Once again, the woman makes the observation. “This is ridiculous. I’m going.”

As the first to move she is followed by the rest, their forms almost side by side as they march towards the hallway built into the side of the saloon.

Three doors marked with a decayed number each, the third chosen as the owner of the space is given by the keys. A latched mechanism, clicking open to reveal the given accommodations.

Two mattresses stained with unthinkable substances bulging with exposed springs, a trashed dresser missing two drawers as its interior of darkened plastic is exposed to the Five. One barred window allows for a view into a decrepit alley filled with bags of garbage, glass mercifully shut against an assumed scent of decay and death.

One bulb of light turned on from a lightswitch with exposed electrical wires, the long cylindrical shape shedding a thin sickly green illumination into the location.

An apocalyptic location for rest, the Five and One spilling into the room.

Judge Murphy instinctively clears the space, a mind of violence searching for traps and ambushers at the very edges of his perception. One hand hovering above a bladed weapon for close quarters combat, none to be found here in the safety of a roof over four walls.

“I don’t call the bed.” Madeline insists. “I’m sleeping on… something.”

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One bedroll produced from the pack of Samuel, an item for the sibling as they take the location at the far corner. An anti-material rifle left gingerly next to her, in close reach in case of a close quarters shootout between tense allies.

The Judge makes his own position near the door as he begins to scrape one of the mattress frames towards the edge of the boundary, a guard against attacks both external and internal. Holster containing the lever action rifle loosened in preparation for a required quick draw, the handle of his combat blade kept in hand as he adjusts uncomfortable positions.

Alto Carrin refuses to disturb the sanctity of the location, simply taking the bed as is. A comparative luxury, a poverty somehow familiar to the wanderer of the world as he tests the thing for surety of placement. A comfort enough, he moves to the ritual amongst tenuous personalities. Words quiet, eyes shut as he puts an open hand of five fingers atop his heart in the prayer.

Gods above, thank you for all things in this day — so now give us the peace of rest, the peace of the garden beyond the walls. Watch over us, now and forever more.

She’s left with a folded hat and her long duster jacket, on the cold concrete finding herself against a wall. Black fabric turned into a sleeping surface, a heating instead provided by the individuals present within the location. The thud of the multi-barrelled weapon dropped upon the ground, left to its own devices as Madeline settles into her place.

The One just stands there, staring into the distance at the center of the room.

Unbreathing, unmoving; a mind left to its own devices as humans exchange short glances with one another in nervous understanding.

Nobody dares to turn off the lights; a threat in darkness overriding the simple comforts of rest between the Five. Instead, an attempt at half-sleep. Minds left awake at the very brink of consciousness, every single breath counted and every movement registered.

One anomaly among them: the child is an inanimate doll at the center of the world, an inhuman thing amongst the bodies of humanity. Pale blue orbs left wide open and unblinking, a perfect balance as musculature refuses the simple idleness of exertion; a mechanism staring directly north towards a future to come.

He detects the cascade: another step in the manufacturing process reached, a power consuming the entire capacity of the tower. Drawn from the veins of the entire sphere, the allocation of energy gathered in the most subtle of requests to eschew suspicion from above.

But yet the city itself suffers: one request creating a central point in the universe that still attracts the gazes of something deep within the system.

The last screams of them still echoes into the vastness of an interconnected network of decayed mechanisms and processing towers. Remnants and ghosts unrested, the fragments ripped from beyond the veils and brought together once more deep in the catacombs of the city.

Night comes with the power failure, the entirety of March shuddering into darkness.