by Danny
A family sedan sped along the suburban streets of Puerta Mibela, La Perdita, skidding and speeding wildly out of control. The car was being driven by one Timothy Jackson. His wife and young daughter were passengers. And he was driving through a hurricane.
Now, this was not something rational people do. Rational people do not get in their cars and drive across town to Aunt Betsy's where the bomb shelter is because a storm has hit. Rational people know that to do so when the roads are being battered by pouring rain and howling winds is suicide.
Timothy Jackson was not currently a rational man. His house was under attack. The island he called his home was under attack. And all he knew was, he had to get his wife and daughter to safety.
And here he was, moments after leaving the driveway, spinning out of control, about to run off the road and kill himself and his family by hurtling headlong into a bank of trees.
Timothy Jackson tried not to think about death. The car span in a full arc, its headlights illuminating the row of huge oak trees at the side of the road, one by one, as if the trees were each stepping into the spotlight, announcing their intentions to kill him.
Timothy closed his eyes. The sound was just as bad as the sight.
And suddenly, the car stopped. He opened his eyes.
His car was perfectly still. His wife looked terrified, and his daughter was crying, but the car had stopped, and they were all alive.
He looked out the window and noticed two people in black costumes floating above the road. They started down at the car. They were Kevin and Brianna of the PSI-Unit.
"Don't worry!" the twins yelled in unison. "We're here to protect you!"
Frank was an ordinary man, a businessman. He worked in one of the many offices contained in Puerta Mibela's landmark Royal Crown Tower, the tallest building on the island.
Frank heard all the commotion outside, the wind, the rain, the cracking of distant falling trees, and crunching of much closer destruction. And he, like most of his co-workers, decided to stay in the building, rushing to the crowded basement floor. This, of course, seemed the logical thing to do.
In 1978, when the Royal Crown Tower was built, the mayor of Puerta Mibela, La Perdita, was one Victor Swift. Victor Swift was a well-regarded man. He kissed the right babies, shook the right hands, and the public loved him. To the residents of Puerta Mibela, he was a well-loved, well-respected man.
He was also as crooked as a boomerang. Both the national La Perdita government and the civic Puerta Mibela government at the time were in bed with the Mafia, who controlled all of the island's building works. When the proposal for the Royal Crown Tower came through, it was Victor Swift himself who approved its construction, Victor Swift who, in order to keep his steady flow of kickbacks and Mafia money coming into his hands, made sure the construction was done on the cheap.
The building's girders were second rate, the concrete walls practically hollow. For all the hoopla surrounding its construction, the Royal Crown Tower was never built to withstand the full force of a hurricane.
Of course, no one knew any of this. As far as the locals were concerned, the Royal Crown Tower was sturdy, strong, and well-built, an architectural marvel.
Anyone who lived and worked in it was sure that it would protect them from the elements. The creaks and groans they now heard from the support structure were just natural sounds, they told themselves.
Frank huddled in the basement, hoping everything would be okay.
Grissom Montag, MBL Consulting's new security expert, was currently in a tree.
Why was he in the tree? Vampires had chased him up there. There were currently three of them around the base of the tree.
At first glance, this may have seemed like something almost approaching an act of cowardice on Grissom's part, running from a fight. But even an Englishman could have a plan.
Stretching just above the tree, between the MBL Consulting building and the power lines on the outside street, was an electrical cable that supplied power to the building.
Of course, the power to the building was all but gone; they were running on generators. Still, Grissom hoped there may still be some electricity left in the live cable. It was a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.
What the vampires didn't think was important right now was that it had been raining for some time now. And they were standing in a puddle of water.
Grissom sat in his tree and removed a knife from his pants. Climbing to the top branch, he reached up and sliced the power cable. It fell, the exposed end striking the ground right in the center of the puddle.
Sparks flew, vampires fell, Grissom smiled. "Tossers," he said as he jumped out of the tree.
Dr. Henry Quantos looked down.
A women lay stretched out, a bloody bandaged wrapped around her head. She wasn't going to make it. He cried.
Danny Hearn stood in the room M'xy had constructed for him. It was perfectly normal, which was strange for M'xy, almost as if he was trying too hard to make Danny feel comfortable.
M'xy hovered a few feet in front of him. "Why?" M'xy asked.
"Because..."
"Because why?"
"The world has been made a certain way. By nature, or God, or whatever. We may not like it, but that's how it is, and to come barging in with fifth-dimensional magic and remake it how you like it... that's not right."
"It would be better!"
"It would be what you think is better. That's nobody's decision to make."
M'xy floated to the floor, so that he was standing face to face with Danny. An expression of regret and confusion crossed M'xy's face. "I only want to help."
Danny looked into M'xy's eyes. They were the color of hope. Universes lived and died inside those eyes. And they really did only want to help.
"We can help. We can use our gifts. We can bend the rules every now and then... we just can't break them completely."
M'xy looked thoughtful. "Let's do that!"
"Now, M'xy, can you get us back to our friends?"
"Yes! I can! Right now!"
"Great. Because nature's arse needs a kickin', and I know just the team to do it."