I can’t sleep. I am alive due to random chance. Again. So are most of my friends. Yes, I know that technically any human being is a product of an incredibly unlikely genetic rearrangement. But that does not involve entities hurling around dangerous payloads fired from …

OK, this is not a productive train of thought. Note to my subconcious: Stop that shit!

I get up and outside into the yard. I am not the only one. My aura sense, my hearing and in a few cases even the red glow of a burning cigarette tell me so. This emergency might reverse decades of anti-smoking efforts. Sad. Or do the opposite.

I at least hope that the convoys we were guarding did not include shipments of cigarettes.

I am trying to distract myself again. Not a bad idea. I should have talked to people, but most of us were ready to keel over and I still have the habits of a man of an age that demands a regular sleep schedule. Not a decision to reverse at this hour.

I cannot deny the strategic situation:

I have potential enemies who would kill me if they knew everything.

I have superiors who are nice to me only because I am useful.

To be useful I’ll need to fight.

If I keep fighting like this, random chance will sooner or later catch up with me.

I remember Lisa’s face when the paramedic and the policewoman arrived. I know how she felt. Literally, aura sense, remember. By the way, I need to know what that second essence of hers is. She is of intermediate brightness now. Closer to Thomas and the Network people of lower rank than a muggle.

I cannot get strong enough to fight all the Network off. But I can get strong enough to run and hide, I hope at least. Or I can hope to be saved by the bell of the Grid going up soon. I should use what I got. Being quartered in a seized school means that finding an unused class room in the middle of the night is trivial. Have you ever considered what the effect of telekinesis appearing in the population would be on the common security measure called lock and key?

Stolen story; please report.

The Awakening Stone is covered by a camouflage pattern. My tricorder calls it a Stone of the Hunt. I draw the circle by the light of the flash light I keep in my inventory.

This is a seriously odd power. I see myself walking through the room and drawing. If I really strain it I can see vague shapes of children on chairs behind tables appearing. Tricorder time

Dimension: [Teleport] Special Ability Iron 0 (15%) [Dance by my Will] Dance Aura Ability Iron 0 (94%) [Eternal Moment] Reach Special Ability Iron 0 (9%) [Path in Time] Hunt Perception Ability Iron 0 (1%) (unused) 0%

Auras, I sense auras. Is somebody coming? No, I see now why Thomas is a better auralist than I.

Better get to bed. I feel sleepy now. Tomorrow we will have to teach.

--

I like to enjoy my breakfast. We are getting odd looks? Is that due to Lisa insisting wearing a sabre on her hip and a buckler on her back? Thomas is late, so our customary table is not any more crowded than usual. It feels like stress is getting at people. Is that because the war has been lasting too long or is that because the government keeps teeling us that we need to last only a bit longer because soon all will be well? I remember reading about the Vietnam War where troops were said to be basically unusable in an attack role near the end of their term of enlistment. Nobody wanted to be killed with a bunk on the troop ship home virtually already waiting for him.

Thomas drops in. „Dude, you are all over YouTube.“ He puts his tablet on the table. I really am looking good while dual wielding guns and also while staring into the distance with a stern face and also while firing from the hip to clean up muddy blobs.

D: Dude, ground control to Major Tom, can you hear me?

T: Let him have his fifteen minutes.

P: You are right. This is not about looking good, but about safely killing monsters. That reminds me.

I hand Ulrike a meat coloured cube.

P: Essence of the Flesh.